World War V(oldemort)
by F4ncyFr3y
Summary: Amelia F. Jones is just starting her career as a Nation's security guard and Harry Potter is starting at Hogwarts, a school for young wizards. And a new school year means another year of teaching for Aldrich Kirkland, a history professor across the sea. (Years 1/7)
1. 0-0 One Year After

"Thank you again for coming to help me out France" England said, as France returned to the room and set England's tea on the table. France took his mug of coffee, sat beside England, and made himself at home.

"It is no problem mon chérie, Big Brother France is always here to help you." The Frenchman wrapped his arm around the Brit, as if to emphasize his point.

"Oh don't say it like that you wanker. You make it sound so dirty" England said, and slappped France's offending hand away before his 'big brother' could grope at his vital regions and reached for his tea.

"Well, I'm actually surprised you called me for this." France curled up on the couch and took a sip from his mug. He doesn't try to make another move on the island nation. "What was it you wanted to talk about?" England turned away from his friend, and took small sips from his cup.

For a few minutes, the only sound in the room is the constant 'tick-tock' ticking of the ancient grandfather clock in the corner, as it dragged on, counting the remaining seconds until the sun would rise.

England let out a sigh and set his half empty tea cup onto its saucer and placed it on the table. He motioned for France to set his drink down as well. He obliged, his half full coffee mug follows the tea.

Their eyes meet for a split second before he shifted his focus to unbuttoning his shirt sleeve.

"You're the only one I can trust with this," he said as he slowly pulls the sleeve back, revealing a tattoo. He offers his arm to France to get a closer look.

"Oh, you've covered it up..." France says as he examined the new tattoo; it was still a bit red, but the skin was no longer peeling. He traced the slightly raised skin along the inner part of the red Fender's body, and up the neck. Where a black skull and snake used to be was now a stylish six-string.

"I got it a few weeks ago. It took a few sessions. Because of the brand the ink wouldn't take right away-"

"Oh come on now England, why is this so special? I know you have quite a few tattoos, and I've seen them all in much more _intimate_ circumstances _._ "

"This is serious France," he pulled his arm away and cradled it into his body, his chin touched his chest and his messy hair fell over his face, "last night, I thought I felt it burning again-"

Suddenly, France was up, placed his hands firmly upon England's shoulders and forced England to look at him. France's ocean blue eyes bore into England's forest green.

"If it really is burning you again you have to let Scotland and Norway know!"

"I already checked with Scotland, and his is fine. And I dropped by the Ministry earlier, the Aurors haven't found anything that raises much concern." England's eyes began welling up with tears. The stiff upper lip he always maintained fell apart as his voice quickened and cracked. "I just need you to tell me that I'm just being paranoid. Please Francis, I need to be told that You-Know-Who is dead and my son is safe, because _I don't want to go through that again!_ "

France took his place back on the couch, allowed England to bury his face in his chest and wrapped his arms tightly around his body. He pulled England's sleeve back down, covering the offending ink and ran his fingers through England's messy locks, rubbing his back, trying to calm down his dearest childhood friend and lifelong enemy.

"Hush now, Arthur, mon petit lapin." France cooed in a soothing motherly voice he's only ever used for England and Canada. "You did get the tattoo just recently, it's still healing. And there's a reason Harry is called 'The Boy who Lived'."

"But You-Know-Who, not even Norway could defeat him, what if he survived..."

"The War _is_ over, Arthur, but it's only been a year; we both know all too well how long it takes for these kinds of wounds to heal."

"Don't we know it," England laughed to himself, absent mindedly tracing the long scars along France's back that was left by the trenches of the bloodiest wars in history. And his own heart still beat in his chest, despite the scars and burns, his ugly souvenirs from 1666 and the Blitz.

"You are being paranoid." Telling England what he wants to hear, "but you don't have to be afraid. I won't let that happen to you again." France lifted England's face, brushing his hair behind his ears and wiping away the tears that England allows only France to see. "And I told you, Big Brother is always here to help. You've got me, and your brothers and even Norway and Romania to help you. And you've got Harry. Beautiful, beautiful little Harry."

With each word France inched closer, until their noses lightly brushed against each other's. France didn't remember England's lips being so rough and rugged.

Before France realized he was only kissing a gaudy throw pillow, England's fist connected with France's face.

"I only called you here to tell you about the Mark! And I'm certainly not in the mood for a shag with you tonight, you bloody frog!"

"Why must you always be so blunt, mon chérie?" France laughed, rubbing his tender tomato of a cheek. "Maybe not _tonight_ but…"

Before England could wrap his hands around France's neck, their little dispute was cut short by wails echoing from the second floor.

"Bugger" England scoffed, throwing the pillow at France and started to make a move for the stairs. He's held back by a firm hand on his wrist.

"I'll handle it." France smiled at him as he sprinted up the stairs.

England sat back down on the couch, and finished his remaining tea before it got too cold. He pulled his sleeve back up and traced the pattern hidden under the ink. Maybe it is just nerves. Just paranoia, he thought to himself.

Just the paranoia.

And the fear.

And the guilt.

It's just the horrible memories of the gruesome actions he'd performed during those terrible years.

The first rays of the dawn began to peek through the curtains and spill into the room as France returned, a dark haired toddler wrapped in a blanket on his shoulder. "Well, I've stopped him from crying." France said as he offered the child to England. With his hands free, France retrieved his mug.

"Good morning Harry, did the frog wake you?" England cooed, brushed Harry's hair off his face and traced his lightning bolt scar with his thumb. Harry replied with a tried yawn, his curious green eyes and tiny little hand land on England's arm; the red ink getting much attention today. England pulled his sleeve down and placed a kiss on Harry's forehead. We both have our scars, he wondered to himself, but look who made it out alive, "C'mon I'll fix us some breakfast."

A horrified wheeze escaped France's mouth, nearly choking on the remaining coffee, "You've been cooking for Harry this whole time?"

"Of course I've been cooking, you bellend! Why would you ask such a stupid question?" England spat back.

"You don't have a house keeper or personal chef?! Where's Elizabeth? What about the Takehikos?" France's voice rose, clearly shocked.

"You know I can't have Hetalians anymore." England pouted.

A small gasp escaped from France's lips as he brought a hand to his chest. "Surely your Minster of Magic could make an exception for a situation like this! What an embarrassment it would be, after all we went through, for the Chosen One to die of food poisoning!"

"My cooking isn't that bad!"

"Oui, ça l'est. I'm making breakfast." France said with finality. He turned on his heel and disappeared into the kitchen, and left England with his newest adopted son.

"Your Uncle Francis is going to make us breakfast" he laughed, "can you say 'Uncle Francis'?" Harry struggled with the syllables, but managed to utter "damn frog".

A smile broke across England's face, his worries concerning You-Know-Who, forgotten.


	2. 0-1 It Begins

"Bloody hell Norn, pick up your blasted phone." Arthur spat as he set his suitcase by the door and paced around the house; double checking that the stovetop was off, the lights were down and all the windows were locked. There was a World Meeting that England had to attend, and a babysitter to find.

The regular babysitter, Mrs. Figg, was in the animal hospital. One of her cats was sick, and she wanted to stay by her 'little darling's' side the whole while. So she wouldn't be able to watch Harry this weekend. Harry almost gave a sigh of relief when he heard this. She was nice and all, and pretty much left Harry to his own devices, absorbed in his books or the TV, but her house was filled with that stubborn cat-piss smell that neither Arthur nor Harry found very appealing.

Arthur managed to sit down and pull on his shoes, while Harry came down the stairs and stuffed some pencils into his travel bag. An automated voice informed Arthur his call had been rejected once again. He swore under his breath as he hit redial.

"How long are you away for this time daddy?" Harry asked as he sat beside his father and rubbing the sleep from his eyes.

"Only the weekend, love. I'm going across the channel, not the pond." Arthur smiled as he ruffled Harry's messy black locks.

"So where is it this time?"

"Berlin."

"That's the capital of Germany. Oh I'll finally have all of Europe!" Harry's face brightened in anticipation of being able to pin down another country.

A few years ago, his Uncle Alistair gave Harry a large world map so he could track all the places his father had traveled to, marking the country or city with a golden pin. The pins quickly accumulated and scattered all across the map, which had begun to earn some weight in gold. Arthur had promised that one day, Harry would be able to visit all the places he had. In the meantime, Arthur brought back postcards with basic vocabulary of that country's official language so Harry would know at least one or two key phrases when they visited.

"That's wonderful Harry," Arthur exclaimed sharing in his son's joy. "Do you know how to say Germany in German?"

Harry scrunched up his face trying to remember the pronunciation, "umm, Dutchland."

"Close, Deutschland."

"Dootsland." Harry laughed.

"Deutschland." Arthur couldn't stop himself from grinning.

"Deutschland!"

"Now you've got it! And I'll be sure to get you a new postcard."

The automated voice told Arthur he had failed to reach Northern Ireland once again.

"Is Uncle Connor not picking up?"

"Unfortunately not..."

"Maybe his phone is dead?" Harry said with a shrug.

"Right, that's it," he says sarcastically. Harry was a lot more optimistic about his brothers than Arthur was sometimes. "Are you all packed?" He asks as he dials Wales' number.

"Yup!" replied Harry as he unzipped his travel bag to double check his things.

"You've got your books?"

"I packed sketchbooks and stories."

"Juice box and snacks?"

"Yes. A bag of crisps and an apple."

"Your clothes for tomorrow and your jammies?"

"Yes." he said as he confirmed he'd packed his favourite shirt."

"Toothbrush?"

Harry rummaged through the pack again, but came back empty. "Oops."

"Come on Harry, go get it."

Harry waddled back up the stairs; taking one step at a time, careful not to put too much pressure on his bad foot, using the crutch and brace like he was taught. He had sprained his ankle in another one of his magical accidents. Arthur was usually able to brush these behavioral oddities off as the typical accidents many children Harry's age tend to have, whether they be wizards or not. But this particular incident was a bit more of a challenge to explain, as Harry seemingly flew up to the school roof while trying to escape the school bully, Dudley and injuring his ankle in the whole process. In the end, they both agreed to say it was 'magical' how he had gotten up there and Arthur hoped they could laugh it off sooner or later.

The phone rung out and a familiar voice greeted England, "Hello this is Wales."

"Oh thank God! Wales, I need you to babysit Harry-"

"Actually this isn't Wales," England was cut off as the message continued. "This is his voice mail. The real Wales is probably out tending to his sheep or planning a prank to pull on England. If anyone asks, it was America. Leave a message."

The phone beeped to indicate he could leave a message. Well, that explained many of the strange phone calls and packages he had received and the incidences he had experienced over the past few years. England didn't even bother leaving a rant on the machine. Laughing to himself and taking a deep breath, he thought 'There's only one person I can ask now.'

He sighed as he punched in the number of his eldest brother Scotland.

He waited for a few rings until a loud and accented voice greeted him.

"Why hello hello hello! This is Scotland, the best bloody country in the United Kingdom!"

"Scotland, how fast can you get here? I need you to babysit Harry. Wait a minute...are you drunk right now?"

"Aye yah too right, am having a pure great time here dancin'."

"How in the hell of it do you go on the piss at 6 in the morning?"

"Aye, it might be that blooming early where yah are, but yah ken time zones are tricky, tricky things."

England tried his best to prevent that vein in his head from bursting, "I'm calling you on your house phone Scotland. You're at home right now! There is no time difference between London and Edinburgh!"

There was a short moment of silence while Scotland's drunken brain processed what England was shouting at him. "Wait, who is this again?"

England leaned his head against a wall and ran a hand through his hair. It was much too early to stress out this much. "This is England. Your brother. I need someone to watch Harry." He said slowly, articulating each syllable in hopes Scotland could comprehend what he's been asked in his current state.

"Oh, yeah. My wee Sassenach bràthair." Scotland exclaimed, giving a slight pause while England nodded his head 'yes, I finally got through to him'. "I want my independence." Claims Scotland in a voice that sounded scarily determined.

"FOR THE LAST TIME! NO!" England hung up the phone and let it clatter to the floor, burying his head in his hands with a load groan.

Harry returned with his toothbrush laughing. "Did Uncle Alistair get locked out of his house again?"

"Worse. It seems he got locked in his wine cellar."

"So who am I staying with?" Harry said, worry tainting his voice.

England sighed. It would be unlike a gentleman to force Mrs. Figg to take care of Harry when she should be with her cats. His brothers were being incredibly unreliable. And letting Harry stay with their landlords again, whether they were really Harry's last living relatives or not, was absolutely out of the question. Petunia had told Arthur multiple times that her family was very generous indeed to give the pair of freaks a roof over their heads; and a very thin line for him to toe to follow every rule and regulation to keep it. The magic hating Dursleys nearly beat Harry for merely uttering the word "wizard" while he tried talking about his favourite book and hobbits.

He had no other choice. He picked up the phone and dialed Germany' number.

"Hello Ludwig, yes, I'll need another plane ticket." England looked at Harry and winked. "I'll have to bring my son along. Yes. Thank you. We'll be there soon." He hung up and smiled at Harry. "Are you excited for your first flight?"

"Yes!" Harry squealed.

"Well, I'll just get your passport, we'll go to the airport and bob's your uncle!" England said as he kicked his shoes off and sprinted up the stairs to get Harry's passport.

Elated, Harry hopped to the living room, over to the framed photo of his birth parents that Arthur had set on the mantle. "Mommy, Daddy, did you hear that? I'm going to fly in an aeroplane!" Their smiles never faltered as Harry's grew ever larger. "Yes, I'm excited too. I'll miss you." he said as he kissed the tips of his fingers and tapped the glass over his mother's face. He had to remember to change the water for the rose once they returned.

Taking a second glance at the photo, he thought he saw his mother's figure blow a kiss at him as he turned to leave. But the movement went as quickly as it came. Perhaps another one of those 'magical accidents' he thought.

Arthur returned, bounding down the steps and stuffing Harry's passport in his suitcase, "C'mon Harry," following Harry's eyes, he waved to the picture as well. "Don't you worry Cousin Lily, I'll take good care of him."

They both wore big smiles on their faces as they did up their laces, picked up their bags and headed out the door. Before England locked it, Harry called out to his parents one more time, "Take care of the house while we're gone!"


	3. 0-2 You're a Wizard

"Oh my God, did Ludwig actually manage to get through his whole speech for once?" Patrick whispered to Arthur and Francis.

"Mon Dieu, you're right! What's wrong with everyone, why are we all so quiet?"

"Daddy, is it always this boring?"

Arthur struggled to stifle a quiet laugh at their whispered conversation. "By golly, stop talking about it, you might jinx it."

The meeting was significantly quieter than usual and off to a very good start. They were more than an hour in and not one Nation had broken out into arguments and rants with another, which meant no punches, chairs or people have been thrown. Germany was able to get through his whole agenda for once and a few other Nations had been able to give their own presentations.

But just because this particular meeting was quieter than most, doesn't necessarily mean it was any more productive. In fact, many of the Nations weren't paying much attention to Germany and opted to oggle in silence at the strange newcomer seated between the United Kingdom and Ireland.

When the boy first appeared, many of the Nations assumed he was a new colony; a desperate grab at straws by the crumbling empire to remain in power. But then Germany gave them all instructions to only refer to each other by their human names or titles while the boy was present. So it was a bit mind boggling to think the United Kingdom would bring a human, a _child_ no less, to the meeting. What was even more mind boggling was the fact that the United Kingdom, France and Ireland were all getting along, which was an odd sight indeed.

"Daddy," some Nations seated nearby could hear the small boy whisper, "why do those men have such big curls in their hair?"

"Hush Harry," the United Kingdom would reply, holding a finger to his lips, which the boy would adorably mimic, "we have to be quiet. And their hair is just like that."

The meeting continued on in relative silence, and the curious tiny human had to be occasionally hushed by England. While the three nations took notes, the little boy scribbled in a sketch book and quietly sipped on a juice box.

"Oops daddy," Harry gasped as he spilled his juice box, the sticky wave of grape-flavoured snack beverage stained both England and Ireland's papers purple. France scrambled to save his own papers from the sweet flood and salvage what he could of England's work.

"I'm so sorry!" Harry cried. "I'm sorry" he repeated the phrase in a whisper when he realized he'd been too loud, his face quickly grew hot and red.

Ireland leaed in to Harry's ear and assured him, "No worries dote," as he traced the air around the spill in an 'S' shape with his finger and whispered " _Scourgify_ ".

Harry was amazed as the liquid disappeared from the table, dissolving into the air like stars at sunrise. France did the same to England's papers, and restored them to their original pearly composition. "How did you do that?"

His two uncles looked to Arthur with questioning looks drawn on their faces. After a slight hesitation, Arthur nodded.

"Magic." Francis and Patrick smiled at him.

* * *

By the time lunch break rolled around, the novelty of a tiny human at the meeting had worn off. Most of the other Nations left the British Isles and the boy to their own devices while they ate together in the hotel cafeteria.

"Uncle Patrick, Uncle Francis," Harry asked between mouthfuls of bratwurst, "how did you really clean up the papers?"

"I already told you Harry, it was magic."

Harry set down his fork and knife and stared into his lunch as if it would give him a better answer.

"But the Dursleys always say that magic is bad and people who use it are daft. And if Dudley says so, then all the other kids at school have to say so too." Harry said quietly, his usually bright green eyes were dull and down cast like the rainy weather outside.

"Oh Harry," Uncle Francis reached across the table and took Harry's tiny hands into his own calloused ones to offer comfort. France had seen that look before, on a young Canada while he was adjusting to a new life under England's rule. And they all knew how hard it was to seem different from everyone else.

"Nonsense Harry," said Arthur, he brought his son into a one armed hug and ruffled his hair in attempt to cheer him up. "Do you really think your uncles are what the Dursleys would call _daft_?"

"Well the Dursleys would use much more colourful language -"

"And you would trust the word of a couple of Muggles over your own family?" A voice sounded from behind Harry.

Harry turned around to see two men dressed in sharp suits like everyone else from the meeting. But unlike the similar suits everyone wore, they had opposite expressions on their faces. One had a rather stoic, almost mysterious look on his face and a peculiar hair curl floating by his head. The other seemed absolutely giddy, showing off a fanged smile that crinkled his red eyes. Behind them stood two people wearing navy blue windbreakers that had a Spartan helmet patch on the left breast and a red chevron on the shoulders. Harry almost didn't notice them, they stood straight and stiff with their arms tucked neatly behind their backs.

"Umm, hello?" Harry said nervously, not sure who had talked to him first. His focus shifted to the two men wearing suits like his dad and uncles. The two people behind them had such as serious stance he didn't want to talk with them anyway.

"Oh, Harry, these are my colleagues," Arthur said, gesturing to the man with the hair curl "Mr. Lukas Bondevik," then to the other, "and Mr. Vladimir Lupei. Lukas, Vlad, this is my son-"

"HARRY POTTER!" Vlad exclaimed, taking Harry's hands and shaking them excitedly. "You've grown so much since I last saw you! And I really must thank you for what you did. You really saved our skins."

"Umm, what?" Harry was confused. The man was referring to him by his birth name and acting like those strangely dressed people he would occasionally meet on the streets of London.

"Vlad." Arthur warned.

"Enough Vlad," said Lukas in an almost bored sounding voice. He must've been the one who originally addressed me, Harry thought, as Lukas pulled Vlad off of Harry. "You might scare the boy."

"My apologies," Vlad grinned, as his eyes landed on Harry's foot. "What happened here?" He asked, gesturing to the brace.

"Harry had an accident. The doctor said he has to keep it on for a week or so." Arthur explained.

"Or I can fix it right now," Vlad said, with a cheerful glint in his eye. "Do you mind?" he asked, pointing to Harry's brace. Harry gave a questioning look to his dad.

"It's all right Harry," Arthur said, rubbing Harry's back, "you can trust him."

All focus was on Harry's leg and Vlad's hands as he waved his hand around Harry's ankle and whispered words under his breath. Harry felt a soothing warmth within his injured leg as he saw the air around Vlad's fingers twinkle and shine. By the time he was done, the numbing pain in his leg was gone, and he could wiggle his toes with ease.

"Let's try and take that brace off Harry," Arthur suggested as he began to undo the bindings. "Can you stand?"

Harry was a little reluctant to put much weight on his bad leg, and held onto his dad for support. With a tight grip on his dad's arm, he found there wasn't any pain in his leg at all.

"It's all fixed!" Harry gasped, jumping in place, testing his newly repaired ankle. He felt a bit silly dancing around with only one shoe. "How did you do that Mr. Lupei?"

"Well isn't it obvious?" He replied with a grin, "I'm a wizard, that's how."

Harry could hardly believe what Vlad was saying. Wizards were only in fairy tales. And the one in real life, the ones the Dursleys would warn Dudley about, those ones are bad and should be avoided. But Vlad just fixed his leg. How could this man be a wizard?

"You're a wizard?" Harry asked, a bewildered look on his face.

"Da!" Vlad exclaimed, his fanged grin growing wider as he pulled Arthur and Lukas to either side of him, each men wearing annoyed expressions, "Us three, we're the most powerful wizards in the world!"

Uncle Patrick had burst into laughter at this proclamation, quickly turning red and holding onto Uncle Francis' shoulder for support, who was quietly giggling at the whole situation.

"What?! You're a wizard, daddy?" Harry asked, a thousand questions whizzed around in his head.

"Uh -not, not in a long time, love..." Arthur stuttered, breaking free of Vlad's grip and growing tomato faced like Patrick. This was not how he wanted to have this conversation.

"6 years is hardly a long time Arthur," Vlad began again, "even by _human standards_ -"

"Speaking of time," Lukas said darkly, grabbing Vlad by the arm, signalling that he should stop talking much more, "I think lunch break is nearly over. We should start heading back now. Shall we, Mr. Lupei?"

"Cu siguranță." Vlad nodded as he and Lukas headed to the cafeteria exit. The two people in windbreakers followed their lead with brisk steps. On their retreating backs, Harry saw the word 'SECURITY' emblazoned in bold white letters.

"We should start going too Harry, we need to get your other shoe. We'll meet you later." Arthur waved to Patrick and Francis as he gathered their cleared plates. Uncle Patrick nodded as he shovelled the last of his lunch into his mouth and Uncle Francis wiped his face clean with a pearly laced napkin.

With Harry's fingers entwined with his dad's as they left the cafeteria and headed to their room. They passed Mr. Bondevik in the lobby with a group of four more suit clad blonds. And it seemed nearly everyone at the meeting had a stern looking person in a windbreaker or jacket waiting for them outside. As they got into the elevator, Harry took another glance at the mysterious man, Lucas, a strange misty creature floated behind him. The doors closed before he could know for sure what it was, but he swore it was a troll.

* * *

"It's only for one night love, tomorrow you'll be back in your own bed." Arthur said as he took Harry's glasses and set them on the bedside table. "But until then, I'll be right here," he said as he placed a kiss on Harry's forehead, tucked him into bed and quietly slipped into his own.

"I love you, Harry." Arthur whispered as he reached to turn off the lamp between them.

"No don't!" Harry cried, bringing the scratchy blanket up past his nose, "leave it on please..."

Thunder roared beyond the window. The rain from that afternoon hadn't let up, and a few lighting bolts would flash across the sky.

"Of course Harry." Arthur complied and retracted his hand, leaving the lamp to continue emitting it's warm protective glow around Harry. "Good night." Arthur said, closing his eyes and letting sleep take him.

Sleep, Harry found, didn't come as easily to him. Being in an unfamiliar bed, in an unfamiliar room, in an unfamiliar country made Harry quite uncomfortable. And with the thunderstorm raging outside, Harry was having none of it. He was left tossing and turning, a peaceful rest persistently evading him.

With every crack of lightning that spilled into the room through the curtains, Harry saw a green flash.

As another bolt of lightning invaded the room and thunder boomed overhead, the lamp gave out, plunging the room into darkness.

"DADDY!" Harry screamed as he jumped out of his bed and into his father's blankets. Suddenly awake, Arthur wrapped his arms protectively around precious angel.

"It's alright Harry. I'm here." He repeated the phrase on end as he pulled Harry closer into his embrace, trying to calm him down.

As more lighting bolts split the sky, more green flashes were sent across Harry's eyes.

"Daddy!" Harry sobbed, "I keep seeing the car crash! Make it stop please!"

Thunder crashed through the room and deep into Arthur's heart. He had always felt guilty he had to keep the truth of his parents' death from him. But what else could he say? That an evil wizard had murdered them just to get to Harry?

Hot tears began to soak through Arthur's shirt, staining his chest.

"I'm right here Harry, you're safe. I'm here to protect you, love. I won't let anything hurt you."

As thunder erupted again, the woman and Harry screamed.

"Harry!" Arthur yelled over the thunder. The room soon quieted until eventually, the only sound left was Arthur whispering words into the air in a language Harry didn't recognise. It certainly wasn't anything he learned from his postcards.

Harry felt the soothing warmth again. This time, it blossomed in his heart until it reached the top of his head and the tips of his toes. He saw a slight glow enveloping the both of them; the harsh, cold light of the lighting slightly dulled and the thunder was rendered silent.

"Daddy?"

"Keep your eyes closed Harry," Arthur said as Harry buried his head deeper into his father's chest, "I can't do much against the lighting, but at least I've got the thunder to quiet down, right?"

Harry saw the flash of another bolt of lightning through his eyelids, but the thunder never came. It was so quiet in the room he could hear his own heart racing in his chest. "Yes Daddy. The thunder is gone." Harry said quietly, afraid if he spoke too loud, the thunder would return. The glow soon faded but the calm stillness in the room remained.

"Alright then. Calm down now Harry." Arthur said in a soothing voice, slowly caressing Harry's head. "Let me try and get this lamp back on." He said as he reached for the lamp. He turned the dial over and hearing it click a few times, but it refused to relight. The storm must have caused a blackout in the hotel, he thought.

Arthur sighed before pointing at it and whispering " _lumos_ ". The light came back on, now a cool blue instead of its original warm orange. "Is that alright Harry?" Harry nodded and held his father tighter.

"Can I stay in here with you, Daddy?" He mumbled into Arthur's chest.

"Of course, love." He said as he planted a kiss into Harry's hair. "Let's try to go to sleep now, okay?"

If sleep was difficult for Harry to achieve before, it was impossible now. With all the strange events that happened that day and questions bouncing around in his head, Harry just couldn't relax. With his and his father's heart beats the only things keeping time, each second pounded against his confused brain. Harry needed answers.

"Daddy," Harry tugged at his father's eyebrows to force him awake, "Is this all magic?"

"Yes of course, love." Arthur sighed reluctantly.

"Why did you never tell me you were a wizard?"

"Well, I can't exactly go about, using magic and saying I'm a wizard, not with neighbours like the Dursleys next door." He explained, leaving the last words trail off into the quiet room.

"Does that mean I'm a wizard too? All my 'accidents' are magic? Were my birth parents wizards too?"

"Yes, you're a wizard Harry, where are you going with this?" At this, Harry stifled a cry in his father's chest.

"Why are you crying, love?" Arthur gasped, somewhat surprised of his son's response.

"All- all the other kids at school, they- they say magic is bad- because- because," Harry struggled to say, "because Dudley and the Dursleys say so." Harry began to sob again. "Mrs. Dursley said my mother was a freak. That wizards are freaks. No one loves freaks."

"Harry, please." Arthur cooed, trying to mimic Francis while he brushed Harry's hair. "I love you very much. You have a whole family that loves you. And Mrs. Dursley never even knew your mother, but I know your birth parents loved you and they'll always be in your heart." Harry seemed to calm down at this. "You know I love you Harry. And even though we have to keep it a secret, magic is not bad at all. It's nothing to be afraid or ashamed of, alright?" Arthur said as he wiped away Harry's tears.

"Lukas was right, you should listen to me instead of them. If the Dursleys can't understand that something different from them can be loved, then I think they are the ones who are freaks, right?"

Harry nodded, he was starting to understand. "Mr. Bondevik, he called the Dursleys 'muggles'. What's a muggle daddy?"

"A muggle is a person without magic. Just an ordinary person." Arthur explained. He felt he had to make an important point about the difference between muggles and wizards. He didn't want to make that mistake again. "But having magic," he continued, "doesn't make you any more or any less than a muggle, alright?" He gave Harry a small smile that Harry slowly returned. "Just like all the people who live in the different countries on your map; we all live on this earth and have families that we love. We may all look and act different, but deep down, we're all human. Remember that Harry."

Arthur hoped his little speech hadn't turned Harry off or bored him, but Harry gave a small nod to show he understood.

"So, Uncles Francis and Patrick, and Mr. Lupei and Bondevik, they are wizards too?" Harry asked.

"Yes, they are. And so are your uncles Alistair and Dylan and Connor." Arthur replied.

"So is everyone in our family a wizard?"

Arthur thought of his former colonies, he had brought all the youngest ones to Hogwarts, but some of them grew up too fast. Things like declarations of independence tended to get in the way. "Most of them. Uncle Alfred can only use magic on Halloween, though Uncle Oz is learning again as well. I think only Uncles Matthieu and Liam graduated from Hogwarts though..."

"Daddy, what's Hogwarts?"

"Hogwarts is a school where you can learn magic."

A smile spread across Harry's face, his green eyes sparked with excitement. "Can I go to Hogwarts? I don't want to be in a class with Dudley." he laughed.

Arthur laughed as well, glad that his son was no longer troubled by this whole revelation.

"Of course you can go to Hogwarts. When you're old enough, okay?"

"Okay." Harry agreed.

"Let's try and get to sleep now." Arthur said as he closed his eyes again.

"Daddy," Harry whispered, "if you're a wizard, is there such things as elves?"

"I haven't seen any in a while but I'm sure you could find one if you look hard enough. Let's go to sleep."

"Okay. But what about unicorns?

"Yes, unicorns exist. Now sleep Harry..."

Arthur brushed hair out of Harry's face, kissed his forehead and closed his own eyes to prompt Harry to sleep.

"Are dragons real too?"

Harry asked questions into the night until he ran out of magical creatures and eventually fell asleep, wrapped tightly in his loving dad's arms.


	4. 0-3 Our Happy Family

**Trigger warning: swearing, violence.**

 **Disclaimer: I forgot this last chapter, but this goes for the rest of the fic; I don't own Harry Potter or Hetalia. I only own the idea, but I can't claim copyright to that either.**

"Oh for the love of God and all that is holy Harry!" Uncle Alistair yelled from under a mountain of pillows, "please make it stop ringing!"

"I'm sorry Uncle," Harry cried, wearing a pair of fluffy earmuffs and staying as far away from the front door as possible, "Dad said, when I feel magic... I just have to let it out..." He shrugged in apology as the doorbell rang through the house again. Neither of them made a move to answer the door, they learned to try and ignore it after the first few times. Harry's 'accidental' and uncontrolled magic had been making the bell ring for a whole day straight now.

Shortly after Ireland and Romania let it slip that they were all wizards, Harry had tried to stifle or control his magic to make his caretaker's life easier, but to no avail.

"Don't bottle it up for my sake Harry," Arthur had told him. "These things happen to every young wizard, it's really not a problem."

Maybe for England, who had raised many young wizards, and even more young colonies, it wasn't a problem. But for Scotland, those first few hours of endless ringing was pure agony. He had tried to remove the doorbell for both their sanity's sake, but it had soon repaired itself and continued ringing.

Both Harry and Alistair believed Arthur would have a solution to their current predicament.

But Arthur wasn't here.

Arthur had been away on a business trip again, though this wasn't anything out of the ordinary. Considering his father's line of work, Harry had gotten used to his father being out of the country for a few days multiple times a month. The only thing that was different was that Uncle Alistair was left to take care of Harry in their London home, instead of dumping Harry on Mrs. Figg. This was because this was the longest Arthur and Harry had been apart at once.

England was away for three weeks attending a "team building" conference with the former Axis Powers and Allied Forces in Seychelles (oh all the wonderful memories they shared on that island), and Alistair had marked the calendar when Arthur was due to arrive. That date passed almost two days ago.

Multiple technical and scheduling problems had caused Arthur's flights to be delayed and missed. From the tone of his frantic texts and calls before his phone finally died, it was clear both Harry and his father were anxious to be reunited.

"You really miss your father, don't you?" Alistair said, poking his head out of the pillows to ruffle Harry's messy black hair.

"Of course I do," He said sadly, "he's been gone so long."

The doorbell rang again as if to reinforce his point. At this, Alistair buried his head in a pillow with a groan.

"What if the Dursley's start to get suspicious again?" sighed Harry, "can't you use your magic to fix it?"

Alistair ran his hand through his fiery hair with an exasperated sigh. It's been 11 years since that arm had burned him last. "You ken me and your father don't really use our magic anymore."

"Well why not?" Harry asked, staring straight at his uncle, looking for an answer in the deep forest of his eyes. Alistair couldn't bring himself to look away, only allowing his eyes to wander as far as the lightning bolt scar. Did he really have it in him to tell Harry, it's because he might have actually had a hand in marring that innocent face with a mark of death?

"It's pure complicated Harry, me and your da-"

Alistair was cut off by the phone joining in the doorbell's chorus. They both exchange stressed looks, with Harry's face quickly growing hot with embarrassment.

"Maybe if you try removing it again?" Harry suggests meekly. The phone continues ringing as Alistair tries to give Harry a look of encouragement, _this isn't your fault._

"You get the phone, I'll work on the door." Alistair grins and digs himself out of his faultily soundproofed grave as Harry makes his way to the phone.

Harry recognizes Uncle Francis's phone number on the display, but the sassy voice that greeted him was _not_ the Frenchman's "Okay Scot, it's not funny anymore. Answer the bloody door damn it!"

"Dad?"

"Harry?" the voice stuttered, "Wait, don't- Don't follow that language!"

Harry drops the phone and runs to the door as Alistair opens it.

With a giant smile splitting his face, Harry rushes past his uncle, flings off his ear muffs and tackles his father to the ground, knocking Francis's phone out of his hand and cutting him off, sending his luggage sprawling across the lawn, they greeted each other with laughter and tight hugs.

"Dad!" Harry cried as the landed on the grass.

"Hullo Harry! Did you miss me?"

"Of course I did! You were gone for so long! And you were supposed to be here two days ago!" Harry exclaims, sitting on his father's chest as Alistair struggled to hold in his laughter.

"I'm sorry Harry, look, I'll make it up to you." Arthur says as he picks himself off the lawn and brushes dirt from his suit. "Let's go out somewhere today. Just the two of us."

"Really? Right now?" Harry asks.

"Yes, of course love. Anywhere in London, I'll take you." He replies as he retrieves Francis's phone.

"Then, I want to go to the zoo!" Harry smiles as he helps pick up his father's luggage.

"Well lovely juvely, the zoo it is! Just let me change out of this suit and we can go."

"Are you sure Arthur? You just arrived. You should rest." Alistair reasoned as they all brought Arthur's luggage into the house.

"No, it's purely fine Alastair. I got enough rest waiting in the airport or on the tarmac." He shrugs Alistair off. "Put on your shoes Harry, I'll be down in a minute." Arthur and Harry exchange smiles before he bounds up the stairs to change into casual wear.

"And shouldn't you be happy I'm finally taking Harry off your hands?" he calls jokingly from his room. "Three whole weeks of complete sobriety! Think of all the hard liquor you can drink once you get back to Edinburgh!"

"That was only one time Arthur!" Alistair called back.

"What about the time Uncle Dylan and Uncle Patrick came over last week?" Harry snickered to his responsible drinker of an uncle.

"Harry I thought that was to be our wee little secret." Alistair said as they hid laughs behind their hands.

* * *

The zoo was absolutely crowded with people. There were many children with their families and a couple of teenagers roaming the sidewalks, gawping at the colourful animals in their enclosures.

Harry and Arthur had the bad luck to cross paths with the Dursley's a couple of times, apparently celebrating some 'precious angel's' birthday; though Arthur and Harry couldn't find where this supposed angel was.

"Maybe Dudley ate it," Harry whispered to his father.

"I would buy that." Arthur would grin in reply.

Each time they met, Petunia's scowling eyes fell upon Arthur, whispering cruel words to her purple faced husband in less than hushed tones. Dudley too had his own set of weak insults intended for Harry's ears. But Harry wouldn't let Petunia or Dudley ruin his special time with his father. With a few sly remarks aimed back at Dudley, courtesy of his sharp tongue; the Kirkland's were sent running to the next exhibit, with joyous smirks adorning their faces before any of the Dursley's could comprehend what was said, and before Vernon's face could get any more purple and threaten them with their rent.

Eventually, Harry and Arthur made it to the Reptile House when France's phone rang.

"I should take this Harry, it's for your uncle. You go on ahead." Arthur said as he waved Harry off and tried to find a quieter place to speak. Harry heard his father start talking in that strange language he couldn't recognize from his postcards, but he started to pick out a few words over the years, "Hello Monaco!" he heard Arthur greet someone with a smile on his face. His smile soon fell and was replaced by a smirk, "No, I didn't nick France's phone _this_ time. Why would I lie to you?"

Harry chuckled to himself, _probably just another one of Dad's colleagues._

As he walked into the Reptile house, Harry saw Dudley and his friends again, shouting at the animals to "do something interesting! Damn wankers, so boring!"

"I wonder what poor animal those guys are terrorizing now," he thought to himself.

When Dudley had become bored enough and vacated the space in front of the case where a certain sleepy and tired snake resided, Harry went to go see it. "Don't worry about him," Harry said, giving the snake a small grin, "that guy makes fun of everybody."

It could have been a trick of the light, but Harry could have sworn the snake smiled at him.

"Can you understand me?" Harry asked. The snake nodded in reply. Harry figured there must be some sort of magic that let him talk to animals, finally one of his accidental uses of magic was actually cool and useful. He smiled and shrugged, glad that Dudley had moved on to something else and continued to have a short chat with the snake (albeit a very one sided one at that).

"Look! Harry's making the snake do something!" Dudley called to his friends, making all eyes that mattered fall onto Harry.

There was pushing and shoving between the two boys. The glass disappeared. Dudley fell into the cage. The snake escaped. Petunia screamed. The glass reappeared. Arthur hung up his call.

Vernon was yelling at employees to get his son out from behind the glass, all the while his face looked like it was about to explode in anger. Harry giggled to himself has he tried to back away from the commotion and make his way to his own father.

As he stepped backwards he bumped into his father and looked up with a grin. They locked eyes, but the look on Arthur's face was not what he expected. The usual cheery and bright eyes they both shared were replaced with a poisonous green and seething with anger.

"We're going home." Arthur said sternly before grabbing Harry by the wrist and dragging him out of the zoo.

* * *

"I'm sorry dad! It was just an accident!" Harry cried, trying to defend himself and explain his actions. "One minute the glass was there and the next it was gone. It was an accident, I swear!"

Apologize for using my magic to hurt someone.

Apologize so he'll stop yelling at me.

Apologize!

"I know I'm supposed to be extra careful about using magic in public, and I'm sorry about that!" Harry's voice cracked over the words. "I know we crack jokes about them all the time, but I would never want to use magic to hurt people! Not even Dudley!"

"I don't care about that!" Arthur shouted, shocking tears to start welling up in Harry's eyes. "You think I care about those worthless Muggles? The Dursley's can all just sod off!" he yelled, nearly spitting out the name of their landlords. "But what you did today, was fucking _unacceptable_!"

Harry kept backing up, backing up until his back was pressed against a wall. His legs turned to pudding and his lungs caught fire.

Who was this? His father never swore like this, not even at Uncle Patrick. And he most certainly never yelled liked this at all.

Who was this?

Who was this red faced, green eyed, bushy browed stranger screaming at him? All Harry wanted to do was shy away. To curl up in a ball and hide. But he can't.

Arthur grabs his shoulder and pulls him back up to meet his poisonous eyes. "Do you have any idea how scary it is to hear you talking like that?" He screamed as his nails dug into Harry's arm like claws, drawing pained cries to boil up from Harry's throat. "Why the bloody hell would you talk to a _fucking_ _snake_?" He spat as he threw Harry against the wall.

"I'm sorry dad! I'm sorry!" Harry struggled to choke the words out. "I just wanted to say 'hi', what's wrong with talking to a snake, Dad? I don't see the prob-"

A sharp sound louder than any of Arthur's shouting so far rings through the house. A sickening _crack_ reverberates in Harry's ears as he crumples to the floor. Streams of salt burn his cheeks as tears run down his face. Harry moves to cup his cheek where all the pain is radiating from, but his fingertips send shots of fire through his body as they make contact. Pulling his hand back, it feels hot and sticky, stained by the dark red liquid dripping from his mouth and over his chin.

His mind goes blank.

He can't breathe.

The blood pounding in his ears was so loud it nearly drowned out his father's yelling.

"Dad?"

"I _never_ want to hear you speaking like that ever again!" Arthur continues, his shouting threatening to shatter the glass windows. "DO YOU FUCKING HEAR ME?!" he screams as he wrenches Harry to face him, to meet the green eyes he shares with his father.

" _Daddy_?!"

"Go to your room!" Arthur bellows, nearly throwing Harry up the first few steps like a rag doll.

Harry runs up the stairs, sobbing all the way, leaving the tiny drops to blossom like roses on every other step.

It's not until the slam of a door shakes the house is England called back to his senses. He chases after Harry, following the trail of blood to his room.

"Harry, please! Open the door!" Arthur exclaims as he knocks on the cold wood.

Thud.

Thud.

Thud!

He hears a frightened scream over his banging.

No.

He's putting on too much force, again. Just like that hit.

He opts to lean on the door, pressing his forehead to the wood, his body gone limp as he struggles to hold back his own tears.

I'm not an Empire anymore. I don't want to be a tyrant anymore! I'm not a knight. Or a pirate. Or even a fighter pilot.

I just want to be a good father.

"Harry please! I hurt you! I have to take you to the hospital!" he pleads, praying to God Harry will forgive him.

"I don't want to go anywhere with you!" he hears Harry's voice crack as he screams against the pain in his jaw. "Not the hospital! Not the zoo! Not even America!"

Arthur hears bedsheets rustling and another door closing. He's probably hiding in the closet, like he does when we play hide and seek, Arthur thinks to himself.

"Harry, love." Arthur says as he wipes away his tears. "I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry." He repeats the phrase on end as he gets up to leave, feeling pins and needles with each footfall.

He walks down the steps in a daze. He makes his way to the kitchen. Grabbing a couple of handfuls of ice cubes, he puts them all in a plastic bag. Wrapping the whole thing in a tea towel, he slowly makes his way back up the stairs.

Each drop of blood on the carpet motivates him more and more to think of an apology better than the last. But by the time the red spots run out, so does his confidence. With the words stuck in his throat, all he can choke out is a pathetic "put some ice on it."

Sitting at the bottom of the stairs, with the largest puddle of blood threatening to swallow him up, he nervously presses a number on the phone.

" _Bonjour_?"

He hangs up and buries his head in his hand. He takes a breath to calm down. He tries again.

" _Aye_?"

"Scot!" he calls as his vision goes blurry.

* * *

The night air feels cold against Arthur's face and stings his bloodshot eyes. The bottle of beer in his hands, wet from condensation, freezes his fingers. Not even the few fairy friends that could brave the city lights dared to go near the troubled nation.

A loud CRACK sounds through the street and a figure appears at the end of the driveway.

"You ken, as I was driving out of London earlier, I gave Ireland a call." The figure calls out as he walks closer to the porch. "I invited him for drinks. But he was busy, probably with paperwork. One of the lovely perks of independence, I ken. Anyway, he couldn't answer, so I left a message."

England buried his head in his hands with a heavy sigh. He really fucked up now.

"When I get home, and my phone rings, I expected to get dolled up in a kilt and enjoy a couple of pints of Guinness." The figure continues.

"But no." Scotland says as he takes the first step on the porch, grabbing England by the chin, boring his emerald eyes into his youngest brother's own set of jewels. "I'm _here_. Because you came crying to me. You _freaked out_ , andhad some sort of _fucking break down!"_

England can't take much more and tears himself away, burned by Scotland's eyes.

"I don't know what to say... to apologize." England chokes out, "I don't know what came over me. I just don't-"

SMACK! The sound of skin on skin rings through England's ears again, cut off and stunned into silence by a backhand from Scotland. Seemingly not receiving enough punishment, Scotland grabs him by his messy blond locks and bangs his head against the porch's post, leaving a dent and spidering cracks in the wood. The lights on the streets and within the houses of Privet Drive flicker and burn out for a second from the impact, as splinters fall to the floor.

"Those are piss poor excuses and you ken it!" Scotland shouts.

"For fucks sake Scot-" England spits as he shoots a venomous look at his brother.

"Don't you _bloody dare_ look at me like that." Scotland scolds him, "It seems we're all in the mood for beating people just for being Parselmouths!"

England doesn't even move to cup his face and relieve the stinging in his cheek. Instead, he painfully unlocks his jaw and releases a sigh "I deserve that." He says as he moves to take another sip from his bottle. Scotland pries it from his hands before he could drink, gesturing and making a face as he takes a swig of it himself as if to say ' -but you don't deserve this'.

"What are you doing with this anyway? We both ken you're too much of a lightweight to drink away your problems." He says as he lays down on the porch beside England.

"Celtic arse." England spits as he rolls his eyes.

"Roman bastard." Scotland shoots back. "Here," he says as he digs a pack of cigarettes and a lighter from his pocket and nudges England's backside with it, "Let's calm down for a bit, awrite?"

England lights it and takes a few drags. With the smoke unfurling in his lungs, it warms his cold body from within. After holding his breath to admire the taste, he exhales and watches as the smoke tumbles upwards, disappearing into night the sky. If only his problems could do the same. "I should have called Francis," he jokes, wiping blood off his temple.

"Isn't he number one on your speed dial?" Scotland asks. Looking back at his brother, England sees he is enjoying his intoxicant of choice as well.

"Don't drink lying down, you eejit." England grins as Scotland pulls himself up to sit beside him and pats his back.

"It's been so long since I've heard Parseltongue." England says quietly.

"I don't miss it." Scotland says as he offers the beer bottle. England turns it away, somewhat regretting even taking it out, and takes another drag of the cigarette instead.

"But how could Harry be a parselmouth?" England asked.

"His father was a pureblood, perhaps somewhere along that line." Scotland reasoned. "But not all parselmouths are dark, right? I mean, lookit us." he says as he ruffles England's hair, trying to lighten the mood.

England grins and meets Scotland's hand on his head. _We're not exactly the best example of_ good _parselmouths though._ His face falls as he brings their hands down. "It's just, hearing him talk like that, it reminded me too much like-"

"Harry is nothing like that." Scotland says harshly.

"What will happen, when he goes to Hogwarts? What if he gets sorted into Slytherin? What if-"

"Don't even entertain that thought." Scotland says as they meet eyes again. England's eyes were still red and puffy, but he did a good enough job drying his own tears. "Harry is a good boy. You've been teaching him well," Scotland thinks back to the world map hanging on Harry's bedroom wall, now sporting a few green pins around Europe and the British Isles. "He loves learning about and meeting different people. He's got some muggle friends at school, and he loves his Uncle Alfred. He's not going to become some sort of wizard supremacist once he walks through the Great Hall. Something like that doesn't flip like a switch."

England nods and takes a couple more drags from the cigarette. "I guess you're right."

"Of course I'm right you cheeky sod. How'd those words taste coming outta your mouth?" Scotland teases.

"Like vomit." England shoots.

Scotland laughs as he gives England a noogie, a laugh that England is happy to return.

"I just want to do this right this time." England says softly, "Be a good big brother for once. A good father. For Harry."

Scotland looks at him like he just grew second head, "What do you mean? Lookit your colonies."

"I am. I wasn't there to see America and Canada grow up. And once they did, I threw them into a war, against _each other!_ Then Australia, I used him as a dumping ground for prisoners. And New Zealand and Hong Kong, I only cared about them because of their trade routes. And oh God, Sealand-"

"Bloody hell drink this!" Scotland says as he shoves the beer into England's hands.

England's lips hesitate on the lip of the bottle. As he tips the bottle, the liquid burns his throat, untying the knots in his stomach.

"You're and idiot and you're too hard on yourself sometimes Arthur." Scotland says as England downs the last of the drink. "No doubt you fucked up in the past, but you made a promise to North and Hong Kong and _Aberdeen_ : you're a different man now. I ken you truly care for them, and you can't deny they're all grown up to be good boys."

"Thank you for the kind words Alastair." England says as he stamps out the butt of the cigarette and hands the empty bottle to Scotland. "I screwed up. But I can still fix this, right?"

"Of course," Scotland pats England's shoulder for encouragement, "now let's get you inside so you can apologize." He says as he pulls England to his feet.

Walking inside, Scotland sees a small puddle of blood on the floor, a few drops leading up the stairs and some spattering on the wall. The strength of a Nation, and he used it on a human, Scotland scoffs. He quickly casts the scouring charm before England could guilt himself any further.

"So where is the wee tyke?" Scotland asks as he leaves the bottle on the kitchen table while England takes a box from the counter and sets it on the table.

"He's been hiding in his room since it happened." England sighs as he sets the box on the table. "He won't come out when I call him." he starts to retrieve some plates from the cupboards.

"Wait, what's that?" Scotland asks as he helps England set some forks and knives on the table.

"This?" England points to the box and opens it "It's an apology cake obviously."

"You're supposed to be apologizing, not making him feel worse." Scotland grins.

"Bloody hell, I bought it from a French bakery in the city." England retorts, "He loves it when France cooks for him."

They hear a creek on the stairs and look up to see Harry peeking through the railing.

"Uncle Alistair?" Harry says as he rubs his eyes.

"Hey Harry! Come here!" Alistair exclaims as Harry runs down the stairs and into his arms, tears brimming his eyes. "That's quite a nasty shiner innit?" he says. Harry's cheek was already turning a sickening hue of black and blue and so swollen, his eye was nearly shut tight. "Your father give you that?"

Harry sniffles and tears threaten to pour from his eyes again. "He boxed my ears something fierce."

"Ah no worries me braw bairn. I boxed his ears too." He smiles as he brushes tears off Harry's cheeks, careful as he goes over the bruise. "I ken it might hurt Harry, but you have to smile for me, awrite? Give me a smile and let me work my magic."

Harry struggles to hold back tears as he contorts his face into a pained smile. As Uncle Alistair brushes his fingers over his skin, Harry feels that warm, soothing sensation he's come to associate with the rare and beautiful magic of his family in his jaw. Smiling gets easier and easier for Harry, and soon, he no longer has to force it.

"Thank you Uncle." Harry cries into Alistair's chest.

"You awrite now Harry, you awrite." He says as he embraces his nephew.

"What was that about not using magic?" Harry grins to look up at his uncle.

"Well this is deid important! Almost as important as what your father wants to say to you." he says, brushing Harry's dark hair out of his eyes and directing him to face Arthur.

"Harry..." Arthur says as he takes a step forward.

Harry flinches and takes a step back.

Arthur kneels and sits on his heels so he's looking up at Harry instead of towering over him. He's not the powerful empire he once was. No more ruling over his colonies with fear and tyranny. Not in this house. He's just a human here.

"Harry," he calls again, reaching for his son, begging for an embrace and to lessen the space between them. As Harry pads into his father's arms, Arthur closes himself around Harry, holding his son as close to his heart as he could. Even though Harry doesn't do the same to wrap his arms around Arthur, Harry still trusts him. And that's enough for Arthur.

"Harry, love," the words catch in his throat, but they soon pour out like a flood.

"Harry, I should have never raised my hand against you like that. Hurting you and scaring you like that, it's the last thing I would ever want to do. Harry please, will you forgive me?"

The smell of cigarettes and alcohol still on his breath overpower Arthur's usual light sent of tea, but he was still Harry's loving dad.

Wrapping his arms around Arthur's neck, Harry returns the hug, "I forgive you, Dad."

Arthur pulls back to meet Harry's eyes. Both pairs of green were sparkling with tears. Holding Harry's head in his hands, Arthur continues, "Harry, please believe me when I say love you. I love you more than anything on this earth- and I _never_ want to scare you like that again."

"I love you too dad." Harry says, as moves to embrace his father again.

As Harry's arms tighten around England, he feels like he's being pulled back together. After being torn apart by all the invasions, the wars, the declarations of independence; knowing that he is loved and he can love too, makes him feel whole.

He hears a fork tap on a plate. They look up at Alistair who's sitting at the table with a slice of cake. He's cut pieces for both of them and is helping himself to one as well.

Alistair smiles at Arthur, "this is a great cake" he says as he stuffs his mouth again.

* * *

 **I made one of my betas cry.**

 **Guest jack :** **hong kong** x Iceland = OTP! Wait what was the question?

It's actually kind of funny, because I'm uploading this from Hong Kong International Airport.

 **User YJV :I like it! is it possible to add in the Italy Brothers as well? With Romano possibly representing he magical part of Italy? I love Romano please update soon**

Yes, I have re-written some parts to include Romano. I probably won't do that with many other characters that aren't a British Isle or a former colony, because I want the main focus of this story to be the relationship between England and Harry and his family, but Romano's awesome.

 **Reviews are my lifeblood!**


	5. 1-0 The First Year

**The First Year**

Amelia F. Jones is just starting her career as a Nation's security guard and Harry Potter is starting at Hogwarts, a school for young wizards. And a new school year means another year of teaching for Aldrich Kirkland, a history professor across the sea.


	6. 1-1 Diagon Alley

**Damn this is a doozy, so freaking long…**

 **I should probably say th** **at everything in the Harry Potter universe(which I don't own) takes place in some weird limbo between the books and the movies, just so things like cell phones are common place and some things I want to happen later on (and in the past) can happen.**

 ***And something happened to the formatting. Thanks for letting me know. Here's hoping it's fixed now.**

* * *

Chapter 5

"Crikey, I'd like a dragon." Hagrid says to Harry as they carried on their own conversation. After Hagrid arrived with Harry's invitation to Hogwarts, and they held a small birthday party with a slightly flattened chocolate cake (courtesy of Hagrid) and macarons (courtesy of Uncle Francis), the three of them began their journey to Diagon Alley. Arthur was happy to tag along behind the half-giant, as he told Harry stories of Hogwarts and answered his questions about magic. Arthur also found it a bit entertaining to see Hagrid ogle at everyday things like parking meters and fire hydrants.

 _"These things Muggles dream up, eh?" He would say occasionally._

 _"The things that catch wizards by surprise…" Arthur would chuckle in reply._

"My Uncle is a dragon." Harry replies almost nonchalantly as they follow the half-giant down into the tube. Hagrid didn't understand Muggle money so Harry helped Hagrid pay for their tickets. Then Hagrid got stuck in the turnstile and Arthur had to push him out.

"Really? Is your Uncle an Animagus?" Hagrid asks as he clambers onto the tube.

"Harry," Arthur warns. The tube was crowded with people, and some were already staring at Hagrid, who started knitting what looked like a canary-yellow circus tent.

"Well, he's a very proud Welshman." Harry recovered, he didn't want his Uncle Dylan to get in trouble with the Ministry of Magic if word about him got out again. Who knew how many Muggle's memories had to be altered that one Christmas, where his Uncle Dylan had a bit too much to drink and Uncle Alfred was egging him on. "But one of Dad's friends owns a dragon reserve, or it's on his land at least." He fondly remembered his Dad's friend, Vlad, who may or may not be a vampire. Harry was still unsure, even Arthur wasn't entirely sure sometimes. "It's in Romania."

"Small world. A close friend of mine's workin' on a Romanian dragon reserve. Maybe yer Dad could put in a good word fer me," Hagrid says looking at Arthur, a hopeful smile hidden behind his beard, "I've wanted a dragon ever since I was a kid."

"I'll see if I can pull a few strings for you Hagrid," Arthur says with a mischievous glint in his eye, "I think Vlad owes me a few favours anyway." He says as he playfully ruffled Harry's hair and they share a laugh.

"So where is Diagon Alley, Dad?" Harry asks when the resurfaced from the underground, hand in hand with Arthur and waving their arms as they walked. He kept looking around the bustling streets of London, in and around the buildings and the occasional sky in between, trying to catch a glimpse of dwarves or pixies or other wizards like him. If Diagon Alley really was in London, why haven't he been there before? Harry and his Dad have been around nearly all parts of London many times over together, so why haven't he ever seen more examples of magic outside his own home?

"Diagon Alley is right here in London, but it's carefully hidden from the Muggle eye, Harry." Arthur says, pointing a finger up to his bright green eyes as he gave Harry a wink, "Only wizards like us, and other magical creatures can see it. The Ministry of Magic makes certain of it."

"Sure they do. When they aren't makin' a right mess of things." Hagrid says.

"Well, I guess it is all politics," Arthur agreed. "My brother Alistair always complains about working there.

"What does the Ministry do? Does Uncle Alistair have a job just like yours, Dad?" Harry asks.

Arthur had to think a bit on this one. Though Scotland held responsibility in his own Muggle government, and actually got down to work when he wasn't trying to convince Denmark to make him a Nordic country; Scotland was a lot more in tune with the British magical community and the Ministry than England was. What _exactly_ Scotland did in the Ministry, England wasn't entirely sure. It had been quite a few decades since he was really involved with the Ministry, and did honest work there. Though they'd agreed he and Scotland would help the Minister of Magic and the Muggle Prime Minister get along during meetings, it didn't help matters when the four of them occasionally threw each other out of windows.

"I'm not entirely sure what he does there, Harry." Arthur laughs and points a look at Hagrid for an answer.

"Well, their main job is to keep it from the Muggles that there's still witches an' wizards up an' down the country." Hagrid answers, his giant head cocked to one side, wondering what good wizard didn't know these simple things.

"Why do we always have to hide our magic?" Harry asks, almost sadly.

" _Why?_ " Hagrid heard Harry, "Blimey, Harry, everyone'd be wantin' magic solutions to their problems. Nah, we're best left alone. Here we are!" Hagrid exclaims as he brought them to a halt.

"The Leaky Cauldron," Arthur says to himself, "It's been a while since I've been here last." He looked upon the building as if he was meeting an old friend that he hadn't seen in a long time.

"Yeh. It's a famous place." Hagrid says.

Harry didn't see what the fuss was about. He doubted he would've even noticed the tiny, grubby-looking pub if Hagrid and his Dad hadn't pointed it out. It seemed none of the Muggles around them paid any mind to 'the Cauldron', their eyes sliding from the book shop to the records shop on either side and missing the pub in between entirely. In fact, Harry was sure only the three of them could see it, being the only wizards in a sea of Muggles. As Hagrid opened the door, a Muggle woman steers around him, seemingly blind to the giant before her.

"After you," Hagrid laughs as Arthur ushers Harry inside.

For a famous place, the Leaky Cauldron was dark and shabby. The tables were filled with people who seemed nothing out of the ordinary, except a few odd balls who were dressed in wizard robes and top hats. Everyone seemed to know Hagrid, and the buzzing chatter in the place died down as the patrons waved and smiled at him.

"The usual, Hagrid?" the bartender greeted as he reached for a glass.

"Can't, Tom, I'm on special Hogwarts business." Hagrid says, gesturing to his companions.

"Arthur? Arthur Kirkland is that you?" Tom grinned, leaning over the bar to get a better look, "Let me guess, a couple of Firewhiskies for you? Should I put that on Alistair's tab?"

"Sorry, not today Tom," Arthur laughed, "I think it'd be in bad taste for me to get trollied this early in the day, and in front of my son no less." He added as he clapped a hand on Harry's shoulder.

"Your son?" questioned the bartender, peering at Harry, "Oh my stars, could this be –?

The din in the pub had died and the Leaky Cauldron was rendered silent and still. Harry felt as if a hundred eyes fell upon him.

"Bless my soul, Harry Potter…what an honor." Tom breathed as he scrambled out from behind the bar and furiously shook Harry's hand. "Welcome back, Mr. Potter, welcome back." He smiled, holding back tears.

The noise in the pub swelled as everyone got up from their heavy chairs and clambered over to swarm Harry, who found himself shaking hands and exchanging names and smiles with everyone in the Leaky Cauldron.

Hagrid and Arthur were pushed back from Harry as the crowd welcomed him and gave him praises. Hagrid was beaming. Arthur looked at the scene with a glint in his eye and a smile on his face, proud that his son could brighten these people's day just by standing there.

But he was snapped out of his reverie when a pale young man in a turban elbowed past Hagrid and Arthur to get to Harry. Arthur felt as if a cold wind stole his breath. Pins and needles flooded his left arm, like the cursed limb had fallen asleep, as Arthur woke in a nightmare. The Leaky Cauldron and the crowd and _Harry_ was falling away, and all he could hear was Alistair ringing in his ears, screaming at him. _"Arthur! Don't do it!"_

"Arthur, Arthur are you alrigh'?" Hagrid asks, as he caught him and settled the shaken man in a nearby chair.

"Oh, I'm fine." Arthur says, struggling to catch his breath. "It's just, um, a bit overwhelming, I haven't been here in so long…I can feel the magic in the air." he says, it wasn't a complete lie, as someone from the crowd started conjuring small fireworks from their pointed hat (much to Tom's dismay), "See? Must've been some sort of charm gone off. Wow, I'm not used to this at all." He tries to laugh. "Look at Harry, everyone's smiling." Arthur attempted to force a smile onto his own face, but he couldn't. Not when that man was talking (and so casually!) to Harry about classes and vampires. "But, shouldn't we be getting on?"

"Righ', righ'." Hagrid says, getting up and making his way over to the crowd, shooing the patrons away from Harry. "Must get on – lots ter buy. Come on, Harry." He says as he led Harry out of the bar, "Keep up, Arthur!" he called. Arthur slowly regained his footing and sprinted out to the courtyard, only to collapse into another chair, a part of the pub's pitiful outdoor seating.

"Wow, see how famous yeh are, Harry? Even Professor Quirrell was tremblin' to meet yeh – mind you, he's usually tremblin'."

"Professor Quirrell?" Arthur asks, still a bit shaken, "Is he always like that?"

"Oh, yeah. Poor bloke. Brilliant mind. He's the Defense Against the Dark Arts professor up at Hogwarts, but he's terrified of his own subject." Hagrid chuckled. "Some of the students say he keeps garlic and other charms in that turban of his, to keep away vampires and other hexes. Got you there, did he, Arthur?"

Arthur smiled weakly in reply.

"Don' worry there. Some of those cheap charms misfire all the time. It happens. It'll pass Arthur, it'll pass. You get use' to it all again eventually." He says as he slapped a giant hand on Arthur's back to cheer him up. Good thing he was a Nation, or his back might have broken, he thought to himself.

"Hagrid, why do wizards always act like that around me?" Harry asks, bringing Hagrid's attention off his Dad who was looking almost as nervous as Professor Quirrell was, getting Arthur some much needed space to breathe.

"I told yeh, didn't I? Told yeh you was famous."

"But what am I famous for? I mean, what did I do? They were all thanking me for saving them."

"Well, yer the Boy Who Lived, Harry."

"The Boy Who, what?" Harry says confused.

Hagrid rounded back to Arthur, "You never told him?"

"Told me what, Hagrid?" Harry called, "He told me I was a wizard and about faeries and dragons and Quidditch and everything! What else is there?"

" _What else is there?_ " Hagrid repeated loudly, "You stopped a war! You saved the whole Wizardin' World! He never told you about that scar? About how your parents died?"

"How my parents…? Dad told me they died in a car crash, that's where I got my scar. What's magical about that?"

"A CAR CRASH?" Hagrid shouted, shocked, "A ruddy car crash is the best you could come up with Arthur? A _car crash_ killin' Lily an' James Potter! Outrageous! What a scandal! Harry Potter not knowin' who he is when every kid in our world knows his name! You really never told him the whole story Arthur?"

"What do you expect me to say?" Arthur got up from his chair to stand up to Hagrid. It wasn't that impressive, seeing a scrawny and pale little man looking up at a towering giant. But he defended himself the best he could, "People were still paranoid that You-Know-Who would return, and after being bested by an infant, surely that'd do wonders to his bloody ego. You heard those wizards, sentenced to Azkaban, swearing up and down that _You-Know-Who_ would be back and he'd come after Harry again! Harry's nightmares were bad enough." He added, remembering with forlorn how many times he or Francis had to calm Harry down during a storm, "He didn't need to know there was someone out there trying to murder him too."

"WHAT? Murder me?! Who's trying to _murder_ me?" Harry cried.

"He's gone Harry," Arthur says, "You-Know-Who is gone. Thank Heavens."

"But who's 'You-Know-Who'? What did I do, Dad?"

"Arthur, we gotta tell 'him." Hagrid says anxiously, "I'm not sure if I'm the right person to tell, but we're right here. Just on the other side of that wall, is our world. He can't go on without knowin' the whole truth."

"You're right," Arthur says, sitting back down in the chair, pulling Harry into his lap. "How much do you know, Hagrid?"

"Well, I know more than most wizards, because of Dumbledore, but I wouldn't know all about it. It's a great myst'ry, parts of it…" Hagrid says as he settled down into another chair, the wrought iron creaking under his weight, "How much do you know?"

"About as much as the next wizard, rumours mostly." He lied, "I only learned about Cousin Lily after it happened." Arthur shoots a look at the customers at the Leaky Cauldron, pressing their noses to the windows. With a snap of his fingers, he brought the curtains to a close and could hear Tom tell the lot of them to leave them be. "You tell it."

Hagrid took a breath and began his story, "Well, it starts with – with a person – oh, but it's incredible yeh don't know his name, everyone in our world knows – "

"Oh please don't say it." Arthur pleaded.

"Say what? What's his name? Why's it so bad?" Harry kept coming up with more and more questions.

"No wizard likes sayin' the name."

"He was a very bad wizard, Harry. The worst wizard you could be. People are still scared."

"Can you write it down?"

"Oh no, that's even worse…"

"All right – I'll say it. Get ready Arthur, _Voldemort_." Hagrid shuddered as the name left his lips. Arthur clapped a hand to his mouth, as if to hold back the birthday cake and macarons.

Arthur looked positively green, but he brushed Hagrid's concerned cries off with a jerky wave of his hand, "I'm fine, Hagrid. Just continue. But please, don't say it again."

And continue Hagrid did; he told Harry about his parents ("as good a witch an' wizard as I ever knew") and how You-Know-Who started gaining power in all the worst ways, and he started gaining all the worst followers too. Dumbledore was the only wizard You-Know-Who feared ("an' there was this young Norwegian as well, poor bloke. I wonder where he is now?"). And when Harry was just one year old, "He came ter yer house an' – an' – " Arthur conjured a large handkerchief which Hagrid gratefully took, blowing his nose like a fog horn. "Sorry," he says as he gathered his bearings and started off again. On that Halloween, ten years ago, You-Know-Who showed up in the village where Harry and his parents lived, and killed them. He tried killing Harry too, but he just couldn't. "That's where yeh got yer scar. That's what yeh get when a powerful, evil curse touches yeh." Hagrid says, pointing to the lightning bolt on Harry's forehead. And that was why Harry was famous, The Boy Who Lived, who defeated the Dark Lord. "Took yeh from the ruined house myself, on Dumbledore's orders. Gave you to yer Uncle here," Hagrid and Arthur gave Harry a nod. "But I could'a sworn I left yeh on yer neighbour's porch. But it was dark – it was Number 5, wasn't it? Or Number 4?"

"So," Harry says when Hagrid's story was done, "I'm a Hero?" he grinned at his father, mimicking his Uncle Alfred.

A bit of colour returned to Arthur's face and a smile broke across it. "Yes. You're a hero, Harry. You can boast to your Uncle Alfred about it too," hugging him tightly, "You're my hero. Now, would you like to see the world you saved?"

"Yes." Harry says as he jumped off of Arthur's lap and helped him to his feet.

Hagrid walked up to the wall and it and tapped it with his pink umbrella. The brick where he tapped wiggled, then a small hole appeared, growing wider until the wall opened up like a gate. Together the three of them walk through and enter another world.

"Harry," Hagrid says, waving his wide arms with a flourish, "Welcome to Diagon Alley."

Harry marvelled at all the hustle and bustle of Diagon Alley. He couldn't tell which was more astounding; the magical items displayed in shop windows, or the absurd robes and accessories some of the people wore.

"Wow! The new Nimbus Two Thousand!-fastest ever-" Harry hears some boys exclaim, with their noses pressed against a window.

"Dragon liver, sixteen Sickles an ounce, they're mad." An old woman complained as she walked by.

"Where did Scabbers go now?"

Hagrid dutifully lead the way, and Harry joined hands with his Dad, who still wore an uneasy smile on his face. It didn't help that some wizard's passerby were stopping to stare at the odd trio.

Hagrid pulled out the supplies list, "We've got a lot ter buy, Harry, but we gotta get yer money first."

"Did you manage to find those books Dad?" Harry asks, after that heavy 'story time', he thought it'd be best if they all put their minds somewhere else.

Arthur's face changed to the happy one he was used to, "Yes, I did," remembering his old collection of magic books and Grimoire's in their basement, "But I think it'd be best if I just buy you new ones anyway." Arthur replied as he stopped in front of a book store. "I'll get your books here Harry, you can go on with Hagrid, I've got enough Galleons. We'll meet at Madame Malkin's when you get back from Gringotts, okay?" Arthur says as he disappeared into the shop's door, under a sign that says 'Flourish and Blotts.

"Come along, Harry, I'm sure your Dad's got enough money on him. I've got business at Gringotts myself." Hagrid says as he led Harry towards a snow white building that dwarfed all the shops around it.

"Gringotts." Hagrid says as they made their way up the steps white marble steps and passed a goblin on their way inside. They were met with a heavy pair of silver doors, upon which a warning was engraved, to deter thieves.

 _Enter, stranger, but take heed_

 _Of what awaits the sin of greed,_

 _For those who take, but do not earn,_

 _Must pay most dearly in their turn._

 _So if you seek beneath our floors_

 _A treasure that was never yours,_

 _Thief, you have been warned, beware_

 _Of finding more than treasure there._

"So there's really dragons under there Hagrid?"

"Of course, an' a bunch o' other traps too. Yeh'd be mad ter try an' rob it."

Walking down the vast marble hall of Gringotts, goblins flanked them from behind their desk on both sides, weighing golden coins and examining precious jewels. They were all wearing scarlet and gold uniforms and pointed beards under their equally pointed faces. Behind the goblins' desks were seeming thousands of doors and hallways from which more wizards and goblins came out of. Harry and Hagrid made their way to the front counter.

"Morning," says Hagrid to a free goblin, "We've come to take some money outta Mr. Potter's safe."

Once Hagrid fished a tiny golden key (along with a couple of old dog biscuits) out of his seemingly bottomless pockets, the goblin nodded, "That seems to be in order," and called another goblin (named Griphook) to ready a cart.

"An' I've also got a letter here from Dumbledore," Hagrid says, puffing out his huge chest importantly, "It's about the You-Know-What's in Vault One and Vault Seven-Hundred-and-Thirteen," he says, passing the letter over so the goblin could read it carefully. Seemingly a trick, the goblin procured a magnifying glass from under his desk to inspect the letter – no ones' been down in Vault One in nearly a decade, and the owner of the vault usually kept to himself.

"Very well," says the goblin, finding the letter to be authentic, "you'll be escorted down to all three vaults," the goblin says as he nodded to Griphook and another goblin who lead them down a corridor and to a heavy door. Behind the door were two small carts on a set of tracks that disappeared down into a narrow stone passageway.

"What's in Vaults One and Seven-Hundred-and-Thirteen?" Harry asks as they all clambered into the first cart, while the other goblin took a seat in the second.

"Can't tell yeh that," says Hagrid, "All top secret Hogwarts' business. Dumbledore trusted me. More'n my job's worth ter tell yeh that –oh my." And they were off. The mine cart ride reminded Harry of all the roller-coasters he and his Uncle Alfred were very fond of, but he remembered his Dad loathed. Hagrid seemed to share Arthur's distaste because when Harry looked back at the half-giant, he had turned green and was holding his mouth. Harry laughed as the wind rushed through his hair, lifting his arms over his head as the cart took another dive, cheering the whole way down. Griphook rolled his eyes, _humans._

At last, they came to a stop beside a small door.

"I think I'm gonna be sick," Hagrid says as he climbed out of the cart and leaned against the wall, knees trembling.

Griphook unlocked the door. Green smoke spilled out from the door, and as it cleared, a golden glow broke through the cloud. Inside the vault were mounds of Galleons, columns of Sickles and heaps of little bronze Knuts. A small fortune left for him by his birth parents, "All yours," Hagrid smiled.

 _"Don't spend it all in one place."_ Harry could almost hear what his Dad would say if he were down there with him.

"I'm sure yer Dad's buying yeh all yer supplies," Hagrid says as he gathered a handful (which was more like a bucketful to Harry) of coins and stuffed them into a bag and gave it to Harry, "So think of this as pocket money, to buy some candy fer yer friends or summat. But we'll keep the rest safe for yeh." He says as Griphook closed the door again and they climbed back into the cart.

"Vault One now, please, and can we go more slowly?" Hagrid asks.

"One speed only." Griphook replied, and they went off on another roller coaster ride. Going deeper and deeper into the cave, it got darker and colder. After what seemed like an eternity, they finally came to the end of the track, in front of a giant golden door.

"Stay here," says Griphook as he and the other goblin made their way to the door. Vault One had no keyhole, so Griphook stroked the door with a long finger and the door melted away, and the goblins made their way inside.

Inside Vault One was a mass treasure that astounded Harry. He thought he'd go blind from golden light that seemed to be emitting from the vault. From his seat beside Hagrid, Harry could see suits of armour, shields and swords, all glimmering from the light of the giant mountains of gold and emeralds in the vault. Griphook and the other goblin made their way out, carrying a large wrapped package. Probably one of the large portraits of royal-looking men Harry could see hanging on the walls. The two goblins carefully set the package in the second cart. "This goes straight to Hogwarts." Griphook says, nodding to the goblin as he brought the cart back up the tracks.

"And now Vault Seven-Hundred-and-Thirteen, please." Hagrid says, mentally preparing himself for yet another ride. Harry patted him on the shoulder for support as they went off again.

Both his family's vault and Vault One held amazing treasures behind its doors, so something really extraordinary must be behind this vault as well. So Harry leaned forward in his seat eagerly as Griphook and Hagrid made their way to the large door. Harry was sure he'd see some precious jewels at the very least, but when Griphook opened the door, Harry thought it was empty. He noticed a tiny package wrapped in brown paper on the dusty floor that Hagrid scooped up and quickly tucked deep into his coat.

"All right now, let's head back to yer Dad" Hagrid says. After one last cart ride, Harry and Hagrid stood blinking in the bright sunlight outside Gringotts. Hagrid lead Harry to Madam Malkin's Robes for All Occasions.

"Looks like yer Dad's not here yet." Hagrid says, scanning the crowd and peeking inside the shop. "Listen, Harry, would yeh mind if I slipped off fer a pick-me-up in the Leaky Cauldron? I hate them Gringotts carts." Harry nodded and Hagrid disappeared into the crowd, so Harry entered Madam Malkin's shop alone, feeling nervous. He was sure his Dad would show up soon.

* * *

Arthur stood in Flourish and Blotts, trying to remember the list of books Harry needed for his first year. He had copied the supplies list into his phone, and was trying very hard not to bang his head against a book shelf for his stupidity.

 _Come one, I've done this dozens of times_ he thought to himself, but for the life of him he couldn't remember what he needed to buy.

"Oliver?" he heard someone call. "Oliver, is that you?" whoever was calling was close behind him. But 'Oliver' is a common name, it could be anyone. "Oliver Kirkland?" he felt a tap on his shoulder. He met eyes with a man with a fair complexion and even fairer hair.

"You think I'm my _brother_?" Arthur nearly spat in reply to the man. "It's not even lunch time and he's already ruined my day. Even dead, that wanker causes me trouble." He was mentally kicking himself in the ass by now, for ever agreeing with Romania and making friends with this man.

"I'm terribly sorry for your loss." the man says. He almost sounded sincere. _Almost._ The man was following Arthur closely as he tried looking for a book that looked like something a first-year might need. "But your brothers Oliver and Alistair and I were very close friends." He says as he extended a hand. "I'm Luc-.".

"I know who you are, Lucius Malfoy." Arthur says flatly, regarding Lucius Malfoy's hand as if he were offering a rancid dead fish instead of a greeting.

"Well then, you have me at a disadvantage."

"Arthur." He says quickly, taking a copy of _The Standard Book of Spells (Grade 1)_ off a shelf. Yes, he remembered Aberdeen needing this, now what else was there?

"Is someone starting at Hogwarts?" Lucius asks. Won't this wanker get off his case?

"Yes, my son."

"Do you need any help? I've seen you wandering around here for quite a while now." Lucius noted condescendingly.

Arthur looked at the books in Lucius' arms, the supplies list rolled neatly in the pile. "I don't have my copy of the supplies list right now," because I was stupid, stupid, stupid, "Do you mind if I borrow yours?" You idiot! You duffer! You're worse than America!

"It's no problem, Arthur. It's the least I can do for the brother of such dear family friends." Lucius says smugly. Please let it be over soon.

"Which books will you need?" Lucius says as he led them to the back and picked a copy of _A History of Magic_ off a shelf, handing it to Arthur.

"All of them."

"All of them? Your son can't use yours or your brother's copies?"

"Oh, no I don't think he can." Arthur says, running a hand through his hair, please just give me the list and stay away from me. "All the copies I have are practically unusable."

Arthur thought back a few hours, before he and Harry and Hagrid started this trip. After the three of them had their first rounds of birthday cake and macarons, Arthur retreated into the basement to find his former colonies' copies of the books. Of course some of his collection must've been severely outdated, being almost 4 centuries old, but surely he thought there was no harm in saving a few Galleons here and there, if he could.

So when Arthur found the dusty editions, he was a bit miffed to find Alfred had scribbled and doodled in the margins. Surprisingly, upon closer inspection, there were very few doodles of bald eagles and proposed 'freedom' flags. No, in fact, for the years the closet genius had attended Hogwarts, he had scribbled into every textbook he owned. The yellowed pages were riddled with answers to the homework and shortcuts to produce potions and spells with ease, little hints and pointers for his younger siblings – the colonies who would follow – no doubt. England's suspicions were proven true when he found additions to the cheating graffiti in Oz's and even Li Xiang's hand writing. Mathieu and Liam's script carried on in the later years' readings where the others had left off.

One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi had suffered the most, being the oldest required textbook and having gone through all the former colonies' hands. But there was no way Arthur would let Harry have it; the answers scribbled in the margins, Arthur considered that just barely tolerable. It was when Arthur found swear words and pick-up lines in Seselwa, Cantonese, and even Quebecois French that he gave up all hope of these books being remotely salvageable.

"I think it'd be best if I just buy all his things brand new." Arthur says to Lucius as he takes a copy of _The Dark Forces: A Guide to Self-Protection_ , the last book on the list, off a shelf.

Now with Arthur's arms full of the year's books, they made their way to the front counter. Arthur paid for his books, thanked Lucius for his help and hurried out of the shop.

"I'd think it would be nice to get in touch with Alistair again," Lucius says after Arthur as he tried to leave into the street. Arthur had to remind himself to tell Alistair to shoot down any owl that got within his house's airspace.

"Don't think for a second we'll have a friendly interaction like this again, Malfoy." Arthur says, without looking back he knew Lucius had followed him out into the street. " _Stay_ _away_ _from my family_." He growled.

Lucius took Arthur by his word, taking a step back from irritated Englishman. "Well, I'd just like to know where you buried Oliver." Lucius says quietly, "I would like to pay my respects, is all Arthur. The man was a great wizard, as well as my son's godfather."

Arthur managed to keep a pleasant face and turned back to Lucius, emerald green meeting steel gray, "If you really want to know, we buried him _alone_ , in a _Muggle_ cemetery, just to _spite_ the right bastard."

Arthur couldn't help but laugh as a scowl marred Lucius' face at the thought of one of his fellow purebloods receiving a disservice such as being surrounded by Muggles in death. "Good day, Malfoy." He says, pushing past Lucius, and knocking his own books out of his arms.

"Arthur!" Lucius called angrily as he picked up his books, but he'd already melted into the crowd.

* * *

A little bell tinkled as Harry entered the shop, where he was greeted by Madam Malkin, a squat, smiling witch dressed in mauve.

"Hogwarts, dear?" she asks as she led him to the back of the shop to get fitted. "Got the lot here—another young man being fitted up just now, in fact."

"Hello," says the boy. He had a pale, pointed face and fair hair. A second witch was flitting around, pinning up his long robes, "Hogwarts, too?"

"Yes," says Harry.

"My father's next door buying my books and mother's up the street looking at wands," says the boy. Harry thought he had a very boring voice. The boy droned on, "Then I'm going to drag them off to look at racing brooms. I don't see why first years can't have their own. I think I'll bully father into getting me one and smuggle it in somehow."

Harry stifled a laugh at this. It almost sounded like something his Uncle Alfred would do, if it weren't for the boy's boring tone.

"Have _you_ got your own broom?" the boy drawled.

"No," says Harry, "I've flown with my uncles a few times before. But I live in the city, you know, Muggles everywhere. I can't fly as much as I would like."

"I know! Muggles ruin everything!" the boy exclaimed. "I live out in the country, I can fly as much as I want out there! Well, do you play Quidditch?" the boy continued.

"I don't, but my Uncle plays for Ireland," says Harry.

"He's on the national team?" the boy gasped, Harry nodded in reply.

"That's so cool! I want to play Quidditch for my House, Father says it's a crime if I'm not picked for the team. Know what House you'll be in yet?"

"Maybe," Harry tried to remember what House his Dad says he was in while he was at Hogwarts, "Slytherin."

"Wow, me too! Of course, no one really knows until they get there, do they. But I _know_ I'll be in Slytherin, my whole family's been there. What about your family?"

"Uh, some of them have been in Slytherin, the rest were in Gryffindor." Harry explained.

The boy scoffed at this. "Well, at least none of them were in Hufflepuff! I think I'd leave, wouldn't you?"

"Yeah, maybe," Harry says none too easily.

"I say, look at that man!" says the boy, nodding toward to the front window. Hagrid was standing outside, holding up two large ice creams to show he couldn't come in.

"That's Hagrid," Harry says, "he works at Hogwarts."

"I heard he's a sort of _savage_ —lives on a hut on the grounds, now and again he'll get drunk and set his bed on fire trying to do magic. But why's he with you?" the boy says with a slight sneer, "Where're your parents?"

"Um, they died. I live with my Uncle." Harry says slowly.

"Oh, I'm sorry," the other says, not seeming sorry at all. "But they're all _our kind,_ aren't they?"

"They're all witches and wizards, yes of course."

"That's good, I don't think they should let that other sort in, do you? Imagine, some of them have never even heard of our world until an owl shows up with their letter! I think they should only keep it in the old wizarding families, don't you agree?" Harry didn't agree. It went against everything Arthur and his uncles taught him. But he didn't say any of this because this could be his first wizard friend, so Harry just nodded. "What's your family name by the way?" the boy continued.

"Kirkland—" Harry answered a bit too quickly and bit his tongue. Arthur told him he's supposed to go by his birth name, 'Potter' in this world; but he doesn't get a chance to correct himself, because the other boy stood just there, mouth agape and eyes gleaming.

"You're a Kirkland?" the boy seemed star-struck, "Wow, you must be really great at magic already. And it looks like you got lucky, your eyebrows look normal!"

"Why does everyone always comment on the eyebrows?" Harry managed to smile, thinking of his family. Everyone except Alfred and Matthew had ridiculous eyebrows, it was positively laughable.

"That's you done, my dear," says Madam Malkin, pulling the robes off over Harry's head as he hopped down from the footstool. Madam Malkin folded his robes into a bag and led Harry back to the front of the store. The bell tinkled again and Arthur walked in, stopping at the counter, and began counting golden coins in his wallet. Arthur passed coins over the counter to Madam Malkin, taking the bag and Harry's hand.

"C'mon, Harry," Arthur says as he led Harry back out into the street, looking a bit pale, "Hagrid's waiting for us."

"See you in Hogwarts," Harry called to the boy in the back, still a bit weary of the fair-haired boy, but happy to finally meet a wizard his own age anyway.

"See you in Slytherin!" the boy waved.

Hagrid was looking better when they met him outside. Hagrid smiles as he passes Harry an ice cream cone of chocolate-and-raspberry with chopped nuts.

"Ice cream?" Arthur smirks before Harry could take a bite, "This early in the morning?"

Harry sees his dad still seems a bit sour, and gives him a small smile, "Oh, please dad", Arthur can't help but return it, Harry's adorable puppy eyes cheers him up. How can he say no?

"Oh, alright, but you gotta share some of that", Arthur laughs, leaning in for a bite.

"But just a small bite then," Harry says as his Dad takes a big bite of the ice cream, and they share another laugh. They walk down Diagon Alley, peeking in shop windows and enjoying their ice cream until it was all gone. Hagrid pointed out the things they needed on the list and they would duck inside a shop every so often, with Hagrid's and Arthur's arms quickly filling with bags. It helped Arthur get used to it all, being back on this side of London.

They passed by the sporting goods store again, allowing Harry to see the new marvelous broom.

"My, my. A new one already. They're like iPhones, these things. I'm sure your Uncles Alfred and Connor have already got themselves one." Arthur says.

Passing by Flourish and Blotts again, Arthur had to drag Harry away from the front window, which had a display of _Curses and Counter-Curses_ by Professor Vindictus Viridian. "We only use our magic for good, Harry." Arthur reminded him, though Harry was sure he's seen more books like that in Uncle Dylan's house.

Their arms were weighted down and filled with all the bags, making Arthur wish they had some sort of trolley. Especially after walking out of Eeylops Owl Emporium, with two new birds in tow.

"So, did you enjoy your ride in Gringotts?", Arthur asks as he fed treats to his newly bought eagle owl he named Archimedes. He passes Harry the bag of treats who was admiring his own gift from Hagrid, a beautiful snowy owl.

"Yes!" He exclaims, having finally stoppped stammering his thanks and opting to feed the bird some of the treats as he thought of potential names for her, "And I think I met a new friend too!"

"Oh?" Arthur asks, "What was their name?"

"Oh…" Harry sighed, realising that even though the other boy had done most of the talking, he'd hadn't bothered to mention his name.

"Harry, when you meet someone new you have to introduce each other, silly git." Arthur says jokingly, ruffling his raven locks.

"Well, we'll see each other at Hogwarts anyway," Harry shrugs optimistically, "I hope we get into the same house."

"What house is that?" Hagrid asks.

"Slytherin." Harry says confidently, too happily for Hagrid's liking. "He says all his family was in Slytherin and he had really pale skin and slivery hair. Do you know him maybe?"

Arthur stopped in the middle of the street here, dropping his bags and Archimedes' cage with a clang, placing both hands on Harry's small shoulders and knelt down to look Harry in the eye. "I don't want you near that boy, Harry." He says sternly, "Stay away from him. That's Draco Malfoy."

"What? Why? He seemed cool enough..."

"The Malfoy's Harry?" Hagrid asks, shocked that Harry would ever find such a revolting little boy 'cool'. "The Malfoy's were loyal followers of You-Know-Who, didn't need an excuse ter go over ter the bad side." He scoffs as he shook his large head. " And why would you ever want to be sorted into Slytherin? No wizard who went into Slytherin didn't go bad."

"But Dad was in Slytherin," says Harry casually, as if he were talking about the weather, "and Uncle Alistair and Dylan and Patrick too."

Hagrid shoots a pointed look at Arthur, who was quickly turning red under his scrutinizing gaze. "Well, I was in Slytherin a long time ago," Arthur coughs as he got back up to his feet, "But it's not a good house anymore. In my day, it was a noble one; for the ambitious and the resourceful. Now it's full of elitists who'd rather buy in to the delusion that only the _Purebloods_ are strong enough and worthy of this kind of power." He nearly spits the word, Pureblood, as if it were a slur. "And wouldn't you rather be in Gryfinndor? Uncle Alfred and Mathieu, and Oz and Liam were all there. Your birth parents too." Harry smiles at this. He'd love anything to get closer to his birth parents. The only picture he had of them was that one on the mantle after all. "I wouldn't want you to go to a house like that, love. Besides, their mascot is a _snake."_

Harry shudders at the thought of having a snake as a mascot. He was scared Arthur would get mad at him again and flinched when he lifted a hand to Harry's face. But his Dad just brushes the hair off his forehead to plants a light kiss there.

"I won't hurt you Harry." He whispers, "Now come along," he says as he lifts Harry up on his shoulders _,_ who now held the owl cage over his head, wrapping his legs around Arthur's chest, "Let's go get your wand!" Arthur exclaims as he sprints towards Ollivander's wand shop. Harry could hardly contain his excitement, laughing and screaming and attracting strange looks the whole way as Hagrid lumbered behind them with their bags.

Ollivander's was a narrow and shabby shop, but like the Leaky Cauldron, Arthur seemed to hold it in special regard. It was one of few buildings left in London that was older than he was, and a replica of one of his old wands laid on a faded violet cushion in the window. "Tap the sign, Harry," Arthur says, holding Harry up to the peeling gold letters, "It's for good luck."

"Like on an aeroplane?"

"Exactly like on an aeroplane."

Harry taps the sign and Arthur sets him on the ground. Harry was very excited, he was going to get his wand, he was going to be a real wizard; just like his birth parents. Harry and his Dad walk through the threshold of the shop hand in hand.

A bell rings somewhere deep within the shop as the trio walks in and Harry felt like he had walked into a strict library. As he looks at the thousands of narrow boxes stacked up to the ceiling, he feels the hairs on the back of his neck prickle. There was magic here. Pure, maybe even some magic secrets hidden within the walls.

"Good afternoon," says a soft voice, making Harry and Hagrid jump. Arthur turns to see Ollivander, the old man's wide bright eyes shining like the moon in the gloomy shop.

"Hello," Harry says awkwardly.

"Ah yes," Ollivander continues, sounding to Arthur like he'd just walked out of one of America's scary movies, "Yes, I thought I'd be seeing you soon. Harry Potter." It wasn't a question. He continued as he made steps towards Harry, "you have your mother's eyes." Ollivander keeps going on about Lily and James and their wands. Harry learned his mother liked charms while his father liked transfiguration. Harry would have liked earing so much about his birth parents (his Dad didn't know too much himself), but he wished the man would blink. His silvery eyes were scary, and it didn't improve as he got closer. He grabs his Dad's leg instinctively as Ollivander touches the lightning scar on his forehead.

"I'm sorry to say I sold the wand that did it." Ollivander says quietly. He was so close, Harry could see himself in the man's misty eyes. "Powerful wand. Very powerful. It is the wand that chooses the wizard, but if I had known what that wand was going out into the world to do..."

He shakes his head and turns to Hagrid. His voice takes on a much happier tune ask they discussed Hagrid's own wand, the broken pieces of which he still kept in his umbrella.

Finally, those moonlit eyes fell upon Arthur, tapping his sharp chin with his thin fingers, "I don't believe I've met you, sir, unless...no that cannot be..."

Ollivander and Arthur locked eyes. Arthur hoped Ollivander wouldn't let anything about his true identity slip. Dealing with these particularly old citizens were always a bit more trouble.

"Is that you, Seamus? All grown up?" Ollivander says, a twinkle in his eye. How many times would Arthur be mistaken for one of his brothers in one day?

"Goodness no," Arthur forces a laugh, try to keep a level head, "That's my father. I'm Arthur, _the_ _seventh_. "He added the first number that came to his head, hoping Ollivander wouldn't catch the uncertainty in his voice. Either way, North would kill him for making sound like such and old geezer.

"Ah, a name to match the face, you look just like your grandfather." Ollivander replies with a smug look on his face, obviously seeing some semblance of a lie, but he plays along in front of Harry. "A powerful wizard that man was. I assume you inherited his wand?"

"Indeed." Arthur says, patting the left breast pocket of his suit where he kept the wand Scotland gave him all those years ago.

"Wonderful piece that is. He never told me who made it, but I've seen that wand do wonders." He says almost dreamily before turning back to Harry, "but we're here for _you_ today, Harry Potter. Let me see, which is your wand arm?" he asks as he pulls out a measuring tape.

Wand after wand, Harry trialed. Hagrid and Arthur had hidden behind a shelf in the back corner of the shop in attempt to avoid the explosions and flying boxes that were sent whizzing through the shop after each wand Harry tried. And tried. And tried. He didn't know what Mr. Ollivander was waiting for. He would look to his Dad for a hint every few minutes, but he would just nod his head in Mr. Ollivander's direction and leave it to the old wand maker. The pile of tried wands kept mounting g higher and higher, but it just made Mr. Ollivander even happier.

"Tricky customer, eh? Not to worry, we'll find the perfect match here somewhere - I wonder..." Mr. Ollivander mutters as he disappeared into the back of the shop. He returns with another wand and a smile that split his face, "Yes, here we go-unusual combination- holly and phoenix feather, but let's give it a try."

Harry took the wand and felt a sudden warmth in his fingers. It was like he had taken a breath for the first time, he felt he'd been reunited with a piece of himself he didn't know he was missing. He raises the wand above his head and swishes it through the dusty air, sparks of red a gold shoot out of it like a firework and sending them dancing across the walls. His Dad and Hagrid whoop and clap eagerly and Mr. Ollivander looked as if he would cry.

"Curious...how curious...how very curious..." Ollivander says as he fixes the wand into a box and hands it to Harry.

"Sir, _what's_ so curious?" Arthur asks as Hagrid pats Harry on the back, causing him to stumble.

Ollivander fixes upon them his cold look. "I told you, I remember every wand I've sold. Every single wand." He turns to give Harry alone a pale stare, "it just so happens that the phoenix whose tail feather is in your wand, gave another-only one other. It's very curious indeed that while you were destined for this wand," he taps the box in Harry's hands, "it's brother is the one that gave you that scar."

Harry swallows. He looks up to his Dad who lays an arm across his shoulders and he leans into Arthur's protective body. Arthur didn't want Harry to see he'd gone pale.

"Yes, curious indeed how these things happen. The wand chooses the wizard, remember...I shall expect great things from you, Mr. Potter...After all, He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named did great things-terrible, yes, but great."

Harry shivers in Arthur's embrace. If he wasn't supposed to like Draco Malfoy, he was sure he didn't like Mr. Ollivander too much.

Harry paid Mr. Ollivander with seven of his birth parents' Galleons for his wand and Mr. Ollivander bowed as the left the shop.

The late afternoon sun hung low as it slowly sunk behind the tallest buildings of Diagon Alley. They made their way down the street, through the wall and back through the Leaky Cauldron. Harry didn't talk at all the whole way, even as they made their way back to the Muggle world. Harry didn't notice that they attracted even more strange looks than before on the Underground, what with all their funny looking packages and a couple of owls asleep in their cages.

Hagrid bought them hamburgers and Harry's ticket for the Hogwarts Express. Harry half - heartedly waved Hagrid goodbye as the train pulled out of the station.

"Are you alright, love? You're very quiet." Arthur asks, concerned.

Harry didn't know if he could explain well enough. He'd just have a wonderful birthday, perhaps one of the best in his life, and yet- He sat quietly beside his dad, clutching his owl's cage to his chest, trying to find the words.

"Everyone thinks I'm special." He finally says. " Everyone in the Leaky Cauldron, Professor Quirrel, Mr. Ollivander, even Draco... but I really don't know at all. How do they expect great things from me? I'm famous but I don't even remember what for...I can't remember what happened the night Vol-, sorry, I mean the night my birth parents died." He let the last words fade into Arthur's sleeve as he leaned into his Dad for a sense of comfort. Arthur responded by wrapping his arms around Harry. His thick eyebrows knit together as a warm smile spread across his face.

"Don't you worry, Love. You'll learn fast enough. Everyone starts at square one at Hogwarts." He says as he pats Harry's raven locks, "You'll be fine if you just be yourself. I know what it's like to feel like you've been singled out, and it's hard, yes, but you'll get through it. Look at me, love." Harry brings his head up from his Dad's shirt. Arthur grins as he wipes his thumb across Harry's damp eyes, chasing away the tears from the green eyes he and his mom shared. "You have me, your uncles, and now you've got Hagrid to help you. You'll have a great time at Hogwarts, trust me. Do you feel better now?"

Harry nods and hugs his dad as tight as he can, with the owl cage in the middle. "I love you, Dad."

"I love you too, Harry."

 **Its Thanksgiving where I am and I don't want to study!**


	7. 1-2 Welcome to Hogwarts

"Northern Ireland." England nudged the young man taking a kip on his couch. "North, wake up you cheeky cunt."

North swipes at England, rolling over he pulls the blanket over his mop of ginger hair.

"What do you want, you ruddy rosbif." He groans from under the scratchy fabric. England scoffed at the name France usually called him. North must've heard it a thousand times by now and known it was obviously an insult.

"Well, first of all, I'd like to know why you're in my house." England says calmly.

"I'm not in your house, maybe you're in my house." Came North's irritated reply.

"No, pretty bloody sure we're in my house. What, did you take a piss before coming here?" He said teasingly.

"Fuck no. Who do you think I am?" A pale fist shot out from under the blanket, punching England in the thigh, causing him to stumble and yelp. "Getting pissed before breakfast, bloody preposterous."

England let out a heavy sigh and set his bottom on the carpet, his head level with the one on the couch. North continued in an angry tone, "The ride here was worse enough. A bloody red eye flight, beside some lady who was scared of the tiniest bit of turbulence. And damn that cabbie, kept getting lost and ranking up the fare!"

"Connor," England says quietly, laying a gentle hand on the younger nation's shoulder, prompting him to stop his rambling. He remembered living through this scenario more than once in the past. Hiding out in London instead of Belfast, because it felt to close to Dublin, and getting angered by nothing and everything England was doing to his half of the island.  
"Connor tell me, are you-" knew he had to tread carefully if he ever went down this line of questioning, "are you and Ireland fighting again?"

North turned over in the couch, pulling the blanket off, giving England a concerned look, waving his hands as if to dispel any more confusion. "Oh, God no. No, we're not fighting anymore. Please, don't think like that England."

"Oh, that's good." England breathed a sigh of relief. "But if you don't mind me asking, what are you doing here?"  
North slowly sat up in the couch, allowing room for England to join him. Still wrapped in the blanket, he sighed "I just wanted to see the Hogwarts Express."

England gave a small 'oh' and a nod as North explained, his chin lifted to the painfully plain ceiling but his mind gone beyond. His lips curled into a rare smile, crinkling his shining eyes, "You know, it's just so wonderful and magical. It takes you away from this world, away from politics and economics and responsibility...and you can live as a human, if only for a little while." North said, reminiscing about times long passed. "Or at least that's what Hong Kong always told me." He shrugged, turning to face England, "I wouldn't want to intrude, but you don't mind if I tag along, do you?"

"Of course not. In fact, I think Harry would welcome the extra company." England smiled. "And it looks like you'll need it. You really had had a bad night, haven't you?" he says as he pats a comforting hand on North's shoulder. "Go clean yourself up. I'll make some tea and we'll all have a nice breakfast when Harry wakes up." He gave a light chuckle as he helped North to his feet and directed him to the washroom.

"I actually made some hot tea already," North said, pointing to the lightly steaming kettle on the kitchen counter.

"Oh, lovely juvely." England said, a bit miffed that North had so much access to the things inside his house, but something was off. The elephant in the room that England was missing. "Wait, how did you even get in here?"  
England's suspicious eyes met North's mischievous one as he smirked, "You're going to need a new back door."

"So how do you like your tea, Harry?" Connor asked, as he poured two cups for themselves.

"With three sugars," Harry said.

"Wow, your Dad must hate that," Connor laughed. They exchanged smiles as Uncle Connor dropped the sugar cubes into the fine China cup. With a quick 'thank you' Harry took the warm cup in his hands, blew the woody smelling vapours lightly and slowly took a sip, the sweet drink warming his throat and chasing down the croissants and tea biscuits they were snacking on.

"A light breakfast today, huh?" Harry said as Connor dropped a single sugar cube into his own cup.

"Yeah, you're up for a long ride Harry. Save some space 'cause there's going to be lots of treats for you on the train." Connor shrugged as he picked a scone from the breadbasket. "Oh I love these ones, white chocolate and mixed berry," he said as he nudged the basket for Harry to take one, "Thank your Dad for these, he went out to the store to buy them instead of trying to make them himself."

"It was on the way back from the hardware store," Arthur called from the back porch, crouched over and screwing in the last bolt in the new doorknob. He wiped his hands on a dish rag, careful not to dirty his clothes. "Let's hope you can't pick this one, now, you tit."

"Language!" Harry laughed. "No! Dad, you won't like it-!" He protested as Arthur made a playful grab at Harry's cup and took a sip. His face quickly soured despite the tea being, "too sweet."

"I don't know why you both insist on ruining perfectly good tea like that." Arthur said as he returned Harry's cup and poured one for himself, 'black, like his soul' Francis would joke.

"Hey, to each his own," Connor said, lifting his cup as if for a toast, pinky held out high, like any good tea drinking gentleman. "We like sugar in our tea, and you like wearing tweed suits."

"There's nothing wrong with tweed suits!" Arthur defends, to which Connor just laughed. Glancing at Arthur's handy work on the back door he gave a low whistle and smirked, "can't wait to try and pick that one."

"Please don't." Arthur growled under his breath as he took a sip. "Who taught you that trick anyway?" Arthur asked, a bit annoyed, "Dylan or Patrick?"

"Ha, it was Matt, actually." Connor admitted, hiding a grin behind his cup as he took another sip.

"Who?" Arthur asked, his thick eyebrows perking up in the middle.

"Matthew! From Canada."

"Really?" Harry said, surprised that his mild mannered uncle from across the pond knew these kinds of things. He almost laughed at the absurdity of the thought.

"Yeah, I was a bit surprised too. But you'll be real surprised when you see Hogwarts." Connor said happily. "The castle's amazing, or that's what I heard."

"Where is Hogwarts Dad? I want to put a pin on my map." Harry said as he finished his tea and wiped crumbs off his lips.

"Umm. Somewhere...in Scotland?" Arthur said uncertainly, giving Connor a questioning look, who only returned one that was even more unsure.

"Well, the Hogwarts Express won't get lost." Connor reassured Harry, "just make sure you have your ticket and you're set!"

When they were all done their tea and crumpets the two elder Kirkland's piled Harry's things into a taxi that brought them to King's Cross Station. Harry, who had held Hedwig's cage in his lap, got a few odd looks from the driver.

Uncle Connor helped Harry put all his things into one trolley, determined to fit them all like a Tetris game, with Hedwig perched asleep in her cage on top.

"So, do you know what house you want to get into, Harry?" Connor asked as Harry started to push the trolley down the way.

"Yeah! Gryffindor! Gryffindor!" Harry chanted as he pumped his fist in the air, propping his feet on the trolley and pushing it forward.

"Wow, looks like we're going to have another great 'hero' in the family," Connor smiled at Arthur, who nearly face palmed as he laughed.

"Yes, I'm looking forward to that."

"But how do I know for sure I'll get in? Everyone says you never know until you get there..." Harry asked.

"Oh, you'll get sorted when you first arrive, love." Arthur explained.

"Sorted? How?"

"You'll have to wait and see." Arthur teased as he poked at Harry's nose.

"Aww, tell me please." Harry pleaded.

"Oh, just let it be a surprise." Arthur said as he ruffled Harry's hair, "For now, let's worry about getting to Hogwarts. What platform is the Express on?"

"Okay!" Harry said as he set his feet back down on the pavement and fished in his pockets for the ticket from Hagrid.

"My ticket for Hogwarts says the Express is on Platform Nine... and Three Quarters." Said Harry in a less-than-confident voice as he pushed the trolley down the platform to Number Nine. Looking up and down the station, he saw they already passed 'Eight', they were stopped between 'Nine' and 'Ten', but there was no 'three quarters' in sight. Adjusting his glasses and taking care to read the platform number correctly this time, he said again "No, um. It really says Nine and Three Quarters. Is there a mistake, Dad?"

"Not at all son," been through this whole process quite a few times already, he nodded to Connor, who happily took the trolley from Harry.

"There's a whole trick to this Harry, to keep it from the Muggles." He whispered to Harry, and with a wink, he promptly drove the trolley into the brick pillar between platforms Ten and Nine. The trolley hit the wall without any event except Connor tripping over his own feet, reeling from the impact. A few muggles passerby glanced at Connor's mishap, but quickly turned back and carried on, their eyes glued to their watches or phones. Possibly bewitched by whatever magical wards Uncle Connor said should be around.

"So what's the trick Uncle Connor?" Harry asked, reaching to pick Hedwig off the trolley who was startled awake.  
"This!" Connor pointed wide eyed at the wall with a sense of betrayal, as if it were supposed to help him with a stunt to impress some girl, but failed him.

"Are you sure-" Harry started,  
"Connor, let me-" Arthur sighed.  
"No. I can do this!" Connor said, then switching to that language Harry didn't really know, started rambling frantically to Arthur, "Leon and...never let me...at it!"  
Arthur held his hands up in a peaceful gesture and took a step back.

Harry's attention was snapped away from the confusing exchange by Connor, who'd started to regain his cool demeanor, "C'mon Harry, help me push." They grabbed the trolley handles and began to push, with much grunting and slipping shoes, but the wall refused to budge.

"Do you boys need any help?" A kind voice asked. Arthur turned to a plump woman with blazing red hair in a pink witch's robe. Behind her were four equally red-headed boys, all pushing trollies like Harry, and they had an owl.  
A little girl, who was holding her hand lightly tugged at her mother's sleeves, "Mom, can't I go..."  
"You're not old enough, Ginny, now be quiet. Is this your first time going to Hogwarts, son?" The woman called to Harry, who pointed to himself and nodded slowly.

"You're doing it on the wrong side!" A boy who looked the oldest called as Connor's face reddened with embarrassment.

"Why don't you show him how it's done, Percy?" The woman said. Percy nodded and he marched towards the wall between Platforms Nine and Ten, the boy and his trolley disappearing into the wall beside Connor's.

"You next Fred, "the woman said to her next son.

"I'm not Fred, I'm George. He's Fred." The boy pointed to his brother who looked like his carbon copy.

"Honestly, and you call yourself our mother." Said the brother.

"Oh fine. Go George." The woman corrected herself as the boy started towards the wall.

"Actually, I am Fred." He smiled, and he and George disappeared into the correct wall. Connor pulled the trolley back to the woman.

"You can go next, before Ron," she said kindly to Harry, "it's his first time too."

The young boy in question turned his freckled face to give Harry a smile.  
"Just walk straight into it." Ron instructed. "Don't worry about hitting it, and don't stop. That's important."

Harry nodded and got ready to go.

"Up you go son," Arthur laughed as he and Connor lifted him to sit atop the trolley.

"What! Daddy!" Harry cried, clutching Hedwig's cage tightly to his chest.

"Now I've got it! Don't worry, this is how me and my brother always did it," Connor gave Harry crazed smile, "Hold on tight!"

"Ahh! Uncle Connoooooor!" Harry yelped as he pushed the trolley towards the wall. Muggles on either side of him moved out of the way, seemingly unware of the two of them speeding towards the wall. The barrier rushed toward them, not looking any less solid. Hedwig twittered madly in her cage, wings beating against his arms. He was a foot away. Harry closed his eyes ready for a second impact.  
It didn't come this time. Connor started to slow down. Harry opened his eyes.

A scarlet steam engine was waiting next to a platform packed with bustling people. They were a mass of a strange mix of Muggle clothes and wizard robes. Above him was a sign that read 'Hogwarts Express Eleven Thirty'. Behind him was a wrought iron gate where the barrier was, bearing the words Platform Number Nine and Three Quarters. He saw his Dad walking through to join him and Uncle Connor.

"Was that fun, Harry?" Connor asked with feigned innocence.

"Don't do that again!" Harry said as Connor lifted him off the trolley.

"Come on, let's find you a carriage." Arthur consoled Harry, as they walked towards the train.

Steam poured from the engine over the chattering crowd. The first few carriages were already filled with other students, some hanging out the windows to bid their parents heartfelt goodbyes. The rest were fighting over seats. Finding an open carriage near the back of the train, Connor helped Harry lift his trunk up the steps.  
"Try to get a compartment on this side, Harry." They nodded to each other and Harry went on.

Pushing through the crowd of students in the narrow corridor of the train, Harry found it difficult to hold all his things together.  
"Want a hand?" It was one of the twins he'd followed through the barrier, Fred, or was it George?

"Yes, please," Harry panted.  
With the twins' help, Harry's things and Hedwig were tucked neatly in the corner his compartment.  
"Thanks," Harry said as he brushed his sweaty hair from his eyes.

"What's that?" said one of the twins suddenly, pointing to the lightning bolt scar.

"Blimey," gasped the other twin, "are you-?"

"He is, aren't you?"

"What?" Harry asked.

"Harry!" He could hear his Dad calling from outside.

"Harry Potter," the twins chorused, gawping at him.

Harry heard his Dad call again as Fred and George's mom called for them. With one last look at Harry, they separated and went their ways to their parents.  
Harry could see the red-headed family from the window, ducking out of sight when he heard his name in their conversation. He looked over the crowd of parents on the platform and found his Dad and uncle scanning the side of the train for him.

Harry opened the window and waved, calling to Arthur "I'm over here Dad!"  
Arthur pushed through the crowd and smiled up at him.  
"Hey, son, how're you feeling?" He asked.

"Oh wow, it's wonderful so far. Some people helped me out with my things, and umm, they found out who I am." Harry said nervously.

"Oh, don't be embarrassed, tyke!" Uncle Connor exclaimed, "you'd better get used to it! You're practically a celebrity in the wizard world!"

"What, like you?" Harry countered.

"No, not as great as you," Connor laughed as Harry felt his face heat up.

"Harry, if you want to send me a letter, send Hedwig to Uncle Alistair, alright?" Arthur said, changing the subject, and patting Harry's hand, "Archimedes will be there, he can handle those big journeys if I'm out of the country."

"Oh, I'll send you a letter every day, Dad!" Harry said sweetly.

"That'll cost a lot of postage, son." Arthur said with a light laugh.

"It'll be worth it." Harry said with a big toothy smile.

The whistle sounded.  
Harry leaned out the window to plant a kiss on Arthur's forehead.  
"I love you Dad." He smiled as the train began to move. Harry quickly closed the window as the train began to pick up speed.  
Arthur waved after the train, half laughing, half crying. Uncle Connor and the red-headed girl ran down the platform trying to keep up with it until it gained so much speed and they fell behind.

Arthur walked up to Connor as the train rounded the corner and disappeared from sight.  
"Thank you again, for letting me tag along, England." North said quietly, a small smile on his face, as England slowly caught up to him.

"I told you, it's really no problem."

"Platform Nine and Three Quarters," North sighed, "the closest I'll ever get to Hogwarts."

"I'm sorry you never got to go..." England said.

"I'm don't blame you for that," North said. Probably the only thing he didn't blame him for, England thought pessimistically. "How about, 'I blame Hitler' that I never got to go." North joked darkly.

England scoffed. "Hitler ruins everything. But hey, you had me and your brothers as tutors." He shrugged and stuffed his hands into his pockets, suddenly realizing he might have struck a nerve.

After an awkward silence, England spoke up again, "Let's grab some grub later?".

North shrugged. "You have a meeting tonight don't you?"

"Tonight. Today I want to make sure my sons are happy."

The city of London flashed by Harry's window, leaving behind the buildings in a blur.

The compartment door slid open and the youngest red headed boy, Ron, came in.  
"Is anyone sitting there? Everywhere else is full." He said, pointing to the seat across Harry.  
Harry shook his head and took Hedwig's cage off the seat, setting it down beside him. Ron took the newly vacated seat.

"I don't know if we were properly introduced," Ron said awkwardly, "I'm Ron."

"I'm Harry Kirk-" he caught himself this time, "Potter. I'm Harry Potter."

"So, you're really him?" Ron asked.

Harry nodded.

"I thought it was another one of Fred and George's jokes. Have you really got the- you know..."  
He pointed at Harry's forehead.  
Harry lifted his bangs to show the scar.  
"Whoa...so that's where...do you remember it?"

"Not at all." Harry shook his head.

"Nothing?"

"Well, a bunch of green light, but nothing else."

They sat staring out the window for a few awkward minutes. The city had opened up to the countryside, scattered forests and yellow patches of farmland whizzed by. Sheep grazed in fields, coating the green earth like snow.

"So I heard you went to go live with Muggles," Ron started again after a while, "Those men you were with, what are they like?"

"Oh, they're my uncles, Arthur and Connor, but they're not Muggles actually." Harry said.

"Connor, Kirk..." Ron scrunched up his nose as though trying very hard to remember something, "I thought I recognized him! Do you mean Connor Kirkland, the Seeker for Ireland?"

"Yeah, that's him." Harry smiled.

"Wow, I didn't realize, not with those Muggle clothes. I'm sorry, I didn't mean to call them Muggles." Ron covered his mouth as if he'd said something obscene Harry waved his hand to show he wasn't offended. "It's alright."

"The Kirkland's...wow." Ron started with the same air of awe as Draco did in Diagon Alley, "you must hear this all the time but some people say they're descended from Merlin."

"Really?" Harry asked, remembering the name of the powerful wizard his Dad used to tell him bedtime stories about, "I've never heard that, actually."

"Well you must know tons about magic already." Ron mused.

"That's what I thought about you, actually." Harry replied, "with a whole house full of wizards. I was only told about all this a few years ago. And I only live with Arthur," Harry paused as he let Ron try and picture his Dad, who didn't look like a wizard at all in his suit that morning. "I guess it's an easy mistake. Arthur, my Dad, works in the Muggle government too." Harry shrugged as he explained.

"Oh, I think my mom's got a second cousin like that. He's an accountant, but we never talk about him."

"Why not?"

"Well he's, you know, a squib. Someone from a wizard family who doesn't have any magic." Ron explained none too easily in a lowered voice.

"My Dad does have magic." Harry said sternly.

"Then why would he work in the Muggle government of all things?"

"Because he's, well-" Harry tried to answer but he was interrupted by the compartment door sliding open again, revealing a girl with a head of bushy hair accompanied by a scrawny and nervous looking boy.

"Have you two seen a toad anywhere? Neville here lost it." She said with a bossy kind of voice through her rather large front teeth.

"I already told him earlier I haven't seen it." Ron said, shaking his head.

"He keeps getting away from me!" Neville wailed. He and the bushy haired girl turns to Harry for his answer. He shakes his head 'no'.  
From behind his bangs, the girl sees a glimpse of his scar.

"What's that?" She asked, pointing at Harry's forehead.

"What's what?" Harry replied, flattening his bangs over to cover it up.

"That scar, you're Harry Potter, aren't you? I read all about you." She said matter of factly.

"Wow...um. Really?" Harry asked, stunned.

"Oh of course. I got a few extra books, aside from the school work, for background reading. You're in Modern Magical History and The Rise and Fall of the Dark Arts and Great Wizarding Events of the Twentieth Century."

"I am?" Feeling dazed, he didn't think even Uncle Connor appeared in any books except a sports magazine.

"Goodness, didn't you know, I'd found out everything I could if it was me," she prattled on; going off about how proud her parents were when they found she was a witch, and all the magic she's read about and practiced over the summer, and all her spells going well despite not having any magic in her family at all and what house she wanted to be in. She said this all very fast, which made Ron and Harry very annoyed. Even Neville looked more nervous than when he came in, as if he didn't want to be associated with the girl.  
"I'm Hermione. Hermione Granger by the way. We'd better go and look for Neville's toad. I'll see you later."

Then she left, taking a still toadless Neville with her.

"'I'll see you later' I should hope not," said Ron, "I hope I'm not in whatever house she's in."

Around noon, a bell rang and there was much clattering outside in the hall.  
"Anything off the cart dears?" A dimpled witch called from behind a cart filled with biscuits and sweets.

Now Harry saw why Uncle Connor told him to save some space in his stomach for the ride. They didn't have Mars bars, but there were Pumpkin Pasties, Bertie Bott's Every Flavour Beans and Drooble's Best Blowing Gum and Cauldron Cakes and Licorice Wands and his favourite, Chocolate Frogs.  
Harry got a little bit of everything and paid the woman with sickles and knuts.

"Hungry, are you?" Ron asked.

"My Uncle told me that there'd be all this stuff." Harry replied as he started to dig in.

Ron took out a lumpy package with four sandwiches in it. He pulled one apart and sighed, "she always forgets I don't like corned beef."

Harry, wanting to be a kind gentleman like his father offered a pumpkin pasty, "I'll trade you for one of these," he and Ron exchanged smiles and food items. Soon they were both snacking on Harry's feast of sweets that would make Arthur cry for his dentist. They laughed and easily became best friends as the two boys talked about their great big families and their excitement about learning magic and what House they'd want to be in. As they talked of the antics the two pairs of twins in each family would get up to, Ron's sandwiches lay forgotten under the wrappers, the late afternoon sun dancing around the compartment and sparkling on the shiny plastic.

"Do you collect the cards?" Harry asked as he started to unwrap a chocolate frog, admiring his new Dumbledore card. "So that's who he is?"

"Yeah. You didn't know? I've got a few hundred of him already, and maybe around five hundred in all, but I haven't gotten Agrippa or Ptolemy." Ron answered through a mouth full of Cauldron Cake.

"I've got a few myself, but me and my Uncle Matt just like to prank Uncle Alfred with these," Harry laughed as he passed Ron a frog ("maybe I'll get Agrippa!"). As it passed between their hands, it sprung to life and started to leap around the compartment. In an effort to catch it, Harry and Ron overturned some of their luggage, knocking a rat out from Ron's bag.

"Oh no, Scabbers!" Ron cried as he picked up the fat grey rat and inspected it for any serious injuries, "oh and he just fell asleep again! He might have died and you wouldn't even notice. He's pretty useless for a pet. Percy got an owl from my dad for being made a prefect, but they couldn't aff- I mean I got Scabbers instead." Ron's ears started to turn red, as if he'd said something wrong again.

Harry looked at the old rat in Ron's hands, snoring soundly. "Well I think he's kind of cute, for a rat."

"Yeah," Ron smiled fondly, "I tried to turn him yellow yesterday to make him more interesting, but the spell didn't work. I'll show you, look-" as he took out his wand (with some of the unicorn hair starting to stick out), but he was interrupted by he compartment door sliding open once again. It wasn't Hermione and Neville this time.  
Three boys entered the compartment and Harry recognized one of them as Draco Malfoy from Diagon Alley. The pale haired boy was looking Harry up and down with even more interest than before.  
"It's true isn't it?" Malfoy said, "everyone's saying that Harry Potter's in this compartment. That's you, isn't it?"

"Yes," Harry nodded.

"A Potter and a Kirkland. An interesting mix of families there." He smirked, earning some sideways glances from Harry and Ron. "Oh, this is Crabbe and Goyle," he said carelessly, thinking the strange looks from Ron and Harry were directed at the pair of mean looking and thickset, ape like boys who flanked him. He extended a hand to Harry, "And I'm-"

"Yeah, I know who you are already, Draco Malfoy." Harry scoffed at the offered hand and smacked it away.  
Ron gave a slight cough, which might have been hiding a snigger and quickly put a hand to his mouth to cover up his smile.

"You think my name is funny do you?" Malfoy turned on Ron, "I know you must be a Weasley. Father's told me about you lot, with red hair, freckles and more children than they can afford." He turned back to Harry.  
"So where did you hear about little old me?" Malfoy inquired with a sly grin on his face and his voice charged with faux sincerity.

"My father's told me about the Malfoy's." Harry mimicked Malfoy in his drawling tune, "Just a bunch of snot nosed elitists who are too inbred to know what good the Muggle side of the world can offer." Harry spat.

"Oh, that's what he told you?" Malfoy's eyebrows turned up sharply at the sweet new details, "Interesting, considering the Kirklands had those same views not too long ago."

"What?" Harry found himself turning green.

"Oh, he left that part out didn't he? I can't say I can't blame him." Malfoy continued on maliciously, "The Kirkland's were pretty divided on the topic, what with half of them being Muggle lovers and rest were the worst of the worst Dark Wizards."

"What? No! What are you saying?!" Harry said again. He couldn't believe his ears, he felt his head spinning, just like that day in Berlin. His stomach turned, all the sweets suddenly felt sour.

"Wow, I thought you were going to be stupid, but I didn't think it was that bad. You really don't know?" Malfoy taunted, "The Malfoy's were forced into You-Know-Who's army, but the Kirkland's practically led them."

"Now I know that's a load of bull Malfoy," Ron jumped in. "Don't try and sell the story that your family was bewitched into following You-Know-Who. My Dad says the Kirkland's were some of the best Aurors in the world, they were just pretending to be Death Eaters. It was the Malfoy's who had their noses in the sky too often to see that they were being played."

"Ha! 'Model citizen' Alistair told him that didn't he?" Malfoy countered, his Uncle Alistair's name on Malfoy's lips felt alien and wrong to Harry's ears. "The feared and battle hardened general, reformed to a Muggle-loving blood traitor. If only father could talk to him again, make him see reason, instead of listening to your dad's worthless drabble about Muggles all day." Ron's ears turned as red as his hair, but this time not out of embarrassment, but of anger.

"I'd be careful who you hang around with, Potter." Malfoy turned back to Harry, "or you'll go the same way as your parents, and they got what was coming to them. If you keep hanging around this riffraff like the Weasley's and that Hagrid, it'll rub off on you like it did to that stupid Alistair."

Both Ron and Harry stood up.

"Say that again, I bloody dare you." Ron said, his wand drawn, sparks flying off lightly from the worn tip.

"Ooh, you're going to fight us now, are you?" Malfoy challenged.

"Unless you get out now," Harry said, more confidently than he felt, punching his palm and trying to channel his Uncle Alfred's bravado, wanting to defend his Uncle's Alistair's good name.

"You're on then!" Malfoy replied, nodding to Goyle and then to Ron.

Goyle made a move towards Ron, his fist high in the air. Before Ron could retaliate, Goyle let out a horrible yell. Scabbers was hanging from his finger, his little sharp teeth dug deep in Goyle's fat knuckle.  
Crabbe dashed from the compartment and Malfoy stood stunned as Goyle swung his arm around to shake off Scabbers, howling the whole while. Goyle finally managed to fling Scabbers off and sent him flying into the window.  
He and Malfoy disappeared from the compartment. In the commotion, Hermione reappeared, now dressed in a long black robe and a pointy hat over her frizzled hair.

"What has been going on here!? You're fighting and we haven't even made it there yet!" She scolded.

"We weren't fighting, that was all Scabbers." Ron said as he picked up his rat, "I think he's passed out-no he's fallen asleep again." He shrugged, as Ron and Harry sat back down.

"Who was that?" Hermione asked.

"Draco Malfoy and his cronies." Ron and Harry replied together.

"Well, you'd better change into your robes, we'll be arriving soon."

The students made their way off the train onto the platform in lines as orderly as the prefects could handle. Dressed in their black wizarding robes, the mass of older Hogwarts students seemed to melt into the night air, with little flecks of gold, red, green and blue—the colours of the houses—fluttering in between.

"Firs' Years over here! Firs' Years here!" Harry heard Hagrid call.

Hagrid's big hairy face beamed over the sea of heads. "C'mon, follow me—any more firs' years? Mind yer step now!"

He stooped down to face Harry.

"All right there, Harry?"

Harry smiled at the half – giant and fell behind his footsteps. Ron followed suit. And down through a dark and narrow path through the forest they went.

"Yell get yer firs' sight o' Hogwarts in a sec," Hagrid called over his shoulder.

A loud "Oooooh!" travelled down the line of first years as the narrow path opened to a great black lake with a small fleet of boats sitting near the shore. On the other side, they could see the majestic Hogwarts castle, perched atop the mountain. Its turrets and towers pierced the night sky, injecting the little lights of the windows among the stars.

"No more'n four to a boat!" Hagrid called, as the students shuffled to a boat. Harry and Ron quickly got into one together, scooting over for Hermione and Neville.

Harry felt some slight pressure on his foot. "Is this your toad?" he asked, holding the fidgeting amphibian in his hands.

"Trevor! Thank you!" cried Neville blissfully.

"Everyone in? Right then—" Hagrid pointed his pink umbrella, "FORWARD!"

And the fleet inched their way across the reflection of the moon, towards the cliff upon which Hogwarts sat.

After sailing through a curtain of ivies, a dark river and finally into an underground harbour; they cambered out and followed Hagrid up an old stone staircase, carved into the rock.

At the top, they met a huge oak door. Hagrid knocked his great big fist on the door, sending thunderous echoes through the cave.

The door opened at once, revealing a stern – looking, black-haired witch in emerald robes.

"Welcome to Hogwarts, I am Professor McGonagall." she said, "I'll take it from here, Hagrid." She nodded as Hagrid saluted and hobbled back down the stairs. Already, she reminded Harry of one of his Dad's co-workers, Ludwig, with the sharp and strict air she emitted and the authority she commanded. She was obviously not one to cross.

"Now, if you'll all follow me." She said as she directed them through another door and into the entrance hall and across its flagged stone floor.

She crowded them in front of a doorway to the right, where they could hear the muddled noise of a hundred voices behind it.

"The banquet will begin shortly, but you'll be sorted into your houses first. The Sorting is a very important ceremony because, while you are here, your House will be something of your family within Hogwarts. There is Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw and Slytherin. The Sorting Ceremony will take place in a few minutes in front of the school. I shall return when we are ready for you. So smarten yourselves up the best you can and wait quietly."

"Do you know how we'll be Sorted?" Harry asked Ron in a hushed voice.

"I think it's some kind of test. Fred and George said we have to beat a troll, but Percy says they're lying. They have to be lying, right?"

"Oh I hope so." Neville blanched.

"A troll? I've read all about them! I'm sure I know a spell that could do the trick!" Hermione said with confidence the boys wished they had at that moment.

"Oh why couldn't my uncles just tell me!" Harry cried as he buried his face in his hands.

"Oh it's really nothing to worry about." Another voice joined the conversation. The four looked to (or really, through) a pearly, translucent man wearing a ruff and tights. Dragons, his dad's flying mint bunny, flying brooms and now ghosts. Harry's seen it all.

"Don't be nervous and everything will be fine." The ghost said, trying to lift their spirits (pun intended).

Professor McGonagall returned and the ghosts floated away, saluting and wishing the first years luck as they faded into the walls.

"Form a line." Professor McGonagall instructed, "The Sorting's about to start."

She opened the door and lead them down the middle the hall, between two of the four long tables where the older students sat in front of golden plates and goblets. The hall had high walls and was lit by lanterns and flickering candles. It reminded Harry of the cathedrals of Paris, his Uncle Francis's proud city. But none of them had a mural quite like this one on the ceiling, where it seemed it was open to the night.

"Wow, that mural looks real." Harry mused aloud.

"It is real." Hermione nudged him, "I read it in Hogwarts a History. It's enchanted to look like the sky outside."

Professor McGonagall lead them to the front of the hall, where the teachers sat along another table.

Then she set a four legged stool in front of them. On top of the stool she placed a rather ragged and frayed, pointed wizard's hat.

It looked so dirty Harry thought his Dad wouldn't allow it into the house, but Uncle Alfred would try at anything to get it in anyway.

The hall fell silent as everyone stared at the hat. Then the hat twitched. A rip near the brim opened like a mouth, and the hat began to sing about the Houses and the founders of Hogwarts. When it finished, the hall erupted into applause. The hat bowed to each House and fell silent again.

Professor McGonagall walked up to the stool, unravelling a long roll of parchment that pooled at her feet.

"When I call your name, you will put on the hat and sit on the stool to be sorted." She said. She started calling names, and the Hat started calling Houses.

Harry felt nervous. This is where he'll be sorted into his house. Though simply trying on a hat seemed better than beating a troll, he wished he didn't have to do it in front of everyone. Looking at his new friends, he could see Ron quaking in his shoes and Neville about to faint. Even Hermione looked a bit nervous, rocking on the balls of her feet, reviewing her options under her breath. At least the night sky looked beautiful, a sight he couldn't have in the city, maybe that could calm him down.

Harry watched nervously as Hermione is sorted into Gryffindor.

Everyone waited in silence as Neville sat with the hat covering his eyes, then burst into laughter as he tried to run to the Gryffindor table with it still on.

The hat barely touched Malfoy's head before it screamed "SLYTHERIN!"

The next names went by too fast and then it was Harry's turn.

"Potter, Harry!" Professor McGonagall called, and Harry took a nervous step forward.

The hall filled with whispers and mummers as he made his way to the stool.

"Potter, did she say?"

"The Harry Potter?"

And the whole hall of students straining to get a good look at him disappeared under the hat's brim.

"Hmm, Harry Potter, eh?" a small voice spoke in the dark. The hat was talking to him. He was unsure if the hat's voice sounded aloud or just in his own head.

"Another one of Mr. Arthur Kirkland's children, huh?"

You know my Dad? Harry thought.

"Oh of course. You remind me of him a bit. Lots of courage, not a bad mind either, there's talent in here, and oh yes—a thirst to prove yourself, that's interesting. Perhaps I should put you in his old house as well?"

Harry gripped the edges of the stool, Oh please, not Slytherin.

"Not Slytherin you say?" the voice mused. "Are you sure? You could be great, it's all here inside your head. Runs a bit in the family, doesn't it?"

Harry winced and dug his fingernails into the wood of the stool until his knuckles were white. Not Slytherin, not Slytherin, not Slytherin.

"But Slytherin will help you find your way to greatness. Well if you're sure, what house would it be?"

Harry thought of what his Dad told him and what the hat sang. For the ambitious, Slytherin. For the clever, Ravenclaw. For the just and loyal, Hufflepuff. And for the brave at heart,

"Well, well, well. I think we both know it better be GRYFFINDOR!"

The final word resounded and echoed loudly within the Great Hall as the Sorting Hat shouted it outlook for all to hear. Professor McGonagall lifted the hat from Harry's head, and revealed a hall full of cheering students.

With a small gesture of encouragement from the stern professor, Harry bounded off the stool and made his way down the rows, towards the Gryffindor table; scanning for a familiar face.

Words of congratulations and loud greeting bombarded him from the Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw tables as he went past.

He didn't even glance at the Slytherins.

"We've got Potter! We've got Potter!" The Weasley twins exclaimed boldly. They waved him down, and Harry locked on to them, practically running the rest of the way. They patted a space next to them and other students scooted to make room the new arrival. He planted his bottom into the old oak seat, in front of a setting with tableware and cutlery that shone like gold.

"Welcome to Gryffindor," Percy greeted him, rasing a golden goblet inlaid with rubies in a mock toast to him. Across the table, Neville and Hermione smiled and waved at him.

Up at the front of the Hall, Professor McGonagall raised her hand to silence the crowd. Under the brim of her witch's hat, Harry could see a small crack in her stern lips, a glimpse of something warm under that stony facade. Behind her, sitting at the High Table, he could see Hagrid shooting him an enthusiastic pair of thumbs up.

When the Hall finally settled down, the Sorting continued. Soon, Ron had joined them at the Gryffindor table, and snagged a seat beside Harry.

"Wow what a surprise!" Fred cheered. "I never would have guessed!" George congratulated his youngest brother with a pat on the back.

"Another Weasley joins Gryffindor!" The Gryffindor ghost, Nearly Headless Nick whooped with excitement from his loft above the table.

The last person sorted was Blaise, Zabini, who joined the Slytherin table.

With the Sorting done, Professor McGonagall rolled up the parchment and took the hat away.

From the High Table, an ancient looking man, who could be no other than the Headmaster Dumbledore, stood from his grandiose golden chair. He spread his arms wide, to match the beaming smile he gave the students.

"Welcome, welcome to a new year at Hogwarts! Before we begin our banquet, I would like to say a few words. And here they are: Nitwit! Blubber! Oddment! Tweak! Thank you!" He sat back down and everybody cheered.

Some of the Gryffindor first years looked confused.

"Is he mad?" Harry asked, he grimaced at the headmaster's strange words, unsure if he was supposed to laugh or not.

"No, he's a genius! The greatest wizard in the world!" Percy said. Well, maybe just a little bit mad. But look!" Percy redirected the first years' attention back to the table, we're the golden plates and bowls had miraculously been filled with food.

Steaming roast beef, chicken and pork chops filled the plates in the middle of the table. Down the line, the aroma of lamb chops wafted.

Quickly, the older students stabbed their forks at some sausages, steaks and potatoes, and emptied the bowl. But just as quickly, it was refilled with more food.

"Amazing, huh?" Percy asked, "Well come on now, dig in!" He said, and passed a plate of bacon to a third year who called.

Harry took a large serving spoon and scooped up some peas and corn from a bowl in front of him. As if by magic, the mound of vegetables bloated back to full form when he was finished his selection.

His mouth watered at the food on his plate, a piece of roast beef, a sausage, mashed potatoes and vegetables, coated generously with gravy; it was better than anything his dad could cook up, and surely healthier than the microwave dinners they often resorted to.

He bit into a chunk of roast beef, an his mouth filled with the rich flavour of meat and gravy.

"Is everyone enjoying?" Nearly-Headless Nick called, everyone responded with hums and nods, their mouths too full to speak.

"Are you going to eat anything?" Hermione asked.

"Oh, I can't. I haven't eaten in five hundred years. I don't have to but, some things you miss." Heshrugged and smiled sweetly.

"Could someone pass the mashed potatoes please?" Dean asked from down the table. The bowl of mash sat in front of Harry, so he reached for it. At the same time, Neville gripped the bowl too.

sharing a laugh, they passed it down to Dean.

"I like your watch, Harry," Neville complimented.

Harry smiled. He adored his watch, Uncle Alistair gave it to him as a present. The analog watch felt almost antique, and the softly ticking gears would comfort him to sleep on stormy nights.

"Thanks, Neville. My uncle gave it to me when I was really young."

Neville pointed to his own watch, which looked like an exact replica of his own and grinned. "I guess our uncles have similar taste." Neville said, tapping on the white ivory face of his own watch.

"Yeah, I'd say Uncle Alistair can be old fashioned sometimes." Harry replied.

"My Uncle is named Alistair too." Neville said slowly.

Realisation crossed their faces.

Harry dropped his fork and knife.

"Is your Uncle Alistair a tall Scottish man who likes to smoke and drink a lot?"

Neville had abandoned his pork chop on his plate, his eyes widened.

"And his best friend is a French man who loves cooking and baking?" There was a slight crack in his voice.

"And he's trying to get on some giant Swede's good side-"

"-because he really wants to join his special club?"

"No way, this is too much." Neville waved a hand and took a heady gulp from his goblet. "My Uncle Alistair, Alistair Kirkland is actually my godfather. I'm not related to him by blood or anything."

"Neither am I," Harry replied, "My Uncle Alistair is the older brother of my adopted father, Arthur Kirkland."

"Oh I know about Uncle Arthur," Neville said, "Uncle Alistair always complains about his cooking!"

"I'd imagine!" Harry laughed and wiped a tear from his eye. "But it's funny when they team up and prank Uncle Dylan!"

"I heard about that! His hair was dyed pink for months!"

"You two are talking about the same man!" Hermione called.

"Wow! You two could be cousins!" Ron said through a mouthful of bangers and mash.

Harry sat back, and almost fell over the bench, astounded. The wizarding world was where he truly belonged, his dad told him. Not only was he meeting great new friends, he'd finally met a family member his own age. He was liking Hogwarts more and more.

"How come I've never met you before?" Harry asked, curious.

"I don't know." Neville sighed, "my grandmother doesn't really like Uncle Alistair. He and my parents were friends back when they were all working in the Ministry but-" Neville slowed down, as if he had to think carefully about what to say next. "My grandmother just doesn't like him much. I don't know why, she doesn't like talking about it. Weird... but he gets me cool birthday presents sometimes." He shrugged and continued to work on getting that pork chop down.

The memory of what Draco said on the train flared up, like a sharp whisper in his ear, 'model-citizen Alistair, a battle - hardened general with blood on his hands'

"Yeah, weird." Harry said with uncertainty. He tried really hard not to choke on the water in his goblet.

"Hey now, don't look so sad," Hermione spoke up, "you two are here now, and you have plenty of time to hang out and catch up!"

A bright spark returned to both their eyes, Hermione was right and for once she wasn't bossy. Harry and Neville smiled.

They continued to eat their dinner. The Gryffindors talked about what they did over the summer and what they'd look forward to during the year between bites of roast beef, steak and steamed vegetables, then ice cream, treacle tarts and apple pie.

Harry let his eyes wander a bit, scanning the faves around the Hall. The House ghosts floated around with lax. Up at the High Table, Hagrid was drinking and laughing heartily with a short witch who wore a funny looking hat. On the end opposite of Hagrid, he saw Professor Quirell with his colourful turban and robes, he looked far more lively and jubilant than his speaking companion; a professor dressed in dark robes, oily black hair framed a sallow face with a hooked nose at its center.

The hooked - nosed teacher looked right at him. A sharp pain ran across Harry's scar.

"Ouch!" Harry clapped his hand to his head and began to rub away the ache.

"What's wrong?" Neville asked.

"N-nothing, I'm fine." The pain was gone, but an uneasy feeling from the dark robed teacher still lingered.

When they'd all had their fill of dinner and dessert, Professor Dumbledore stood up and raised his hand. The food scraps and spend sauces vanished from existance as quickly as they'd first appeared, leaving the plates as clear and shining with gold as before. Ron was a bit miffed he didn't get another bowl of pudding before it disappeared.

Dumbledore cleared his throat, and his eyes twinkled as he spoke, "Now that we've all been fed and watered, I'd like to make a few announcements-" he went on to give a short speech and reminders of the school rules. No magical items or spells allowed in the halls, and the Forbidden Forest was off limits to all students. Most students nodded, they knew these rules already. Fred and George nudged each other in the side, hiding giggles under their hands. Quidditch team trials would happen in the second week of term. Harry thought whistfully how proud Uncle Alfred or Connor would be if he made it. He decided he would try out next year.

"And finally I must tell you that this year, the third floor corridor on the right side is strictly off limits and out of bounds to everyone who does not want to die a very painful death." Harry laughed, but he was one of the few students that did. He missed that the Headmaster's warm and cheerful voice had suddenly taken on an ominous tone.

His grin was dashed, and a quizzical look found its way onto Harry's face. He looked to Neville who seemed just as confused. When they exchanged looks with Ron, he just shrugged, apparently the things Fred and George had told him had some truth in them.

And with that, the Headmaster continued, "And now, before we go to bed, let us sing the school song!"

The teachers and students were all smiles again, and Dumbledore waved his wand.

A ribbon burst forth from the tip of his wand, twisting, undulating in a wind that blew only for it. The ribbon twisted into words, the first stanza of the song.

"Everyone, choose your favourite tune!"

Everyone joined into a mishmashed chorus of various tunes and genres, all singing the same songs. Harry could hear an older student from the Ravenclaw table belting out the school song in what sounded like a death metal riff. Harry tried singing in the tune of the Beatles _Let it Be,_ but eventually changed when he heard Hannah Abbot singing in the tune of Queen's _Bohemian Rapsody._ He couldn't resist laughing as he joined in making the funny noises.

The last pair singing were Fred and George who were singing a funeral ballad.

Professor Dumbledore helped them finish, then the Great Feast was over.

Everyone got up from their seats in a jumbke. The prefects called to their first years, ready to escort them to their common rooms.

"Gryffindor first years, follow me to Gryffindor Tower!" Percy called over the crowd.

Across the great Hall, Harry caught a glimpse of Draco Malfoy, surrounded by older student's in silver and green garb.

They met eyes.

Draco's steel grey eyes looked cold and- no.

Surely, Harry must've mistaken the sad look on his face as something more akin to loathing or contempt.

With a grimace, Draco turned and disappeared down a hall and the Slytherin prefect around the corner, out of sight.

Neville grabbed Harry by the hand.

"Come on Harry, let's not lose track of Percy!"

And so, Harry headed up to the Gryffindor tower in the mass of Gryffindor first years, with his new friends, Ron and Neville by his side.


	8. 1-3 First Day of School

England woke up with bright rays in his eyes.

"Rise and shine," a woman's voice greeted in French. She walked away from the window curtains and skipped over to the bed beside England's. She started nudging the body under those covers and greeted in French.

England could hear France respond with a muttered French curse. Thank god they were in separate beds, but whoever the smart Atlas agent was who arranged their hotel rooms like this was going to pay.

He groaned and turned over in his bed, away from the open window and buried his head under the covers. The last remnants of his dream still grated on his mind.

France's Atlas agent wasn't having it.

"Come on you two, the meeting starts in an hour."

England sat up straight in the bed and checked the alarm clock between them.

Either they slept through the alarm, or they forgot to set it, either way the two nations would have to rush their morning routines.

"Bugger me." England cursed.

"I have some water going in the kettle sir," the woman said, her voice tinted with a heavy Parisian accent. Her brunette hair was neatly tied into a tight bun. Her green eyes stood out against her uniform, a light grey suit with red chevrons on the shoulders. A blue and green pin of the world glinted off her left lapel. "Which tea would you like?"

England smiled. He kind of missed having this kind of service. "English Breakfast if they have any, Earl Grey if not." He answered in French. The words tasted familiar, tired from disuse but they came easily enough. The woman blushed and smiled.

The woman nodded and finally managed to get France out of bed. "I'll let it steep then. I trust you two can handle yourselves." She said confidently in French.

"Bless you, love." He thanked her before she left the room and the two nations alone. He sprang out of bed and to the closet where he kept his clothes.

He took his suit and pants off the hanger and dashed into the washroom before France could get inside.

"Wait your bloody turn!" He teased as he stripped off his pyjama pants. He cast a quick spell to iron out and wrinkles and pulled the dress pants and belt on. Before long, he'd gotten his suit on, he was draped in a professional shade of navy blue. His pants had thin silver herringbones that played compliment to his matching tie. Trained fingers expertly tied a full Windsor around his neck. He took a glass bottle from his travel bag and applied some cologne. With a quick brush of his teeth, England was ready to go.

He stepped out into the bedroom again and said, "Okay Frog, it's your turn."

France sat on the bed with his dress shirt and pants haphazardly hanging on his body. His shirt was only buttoned up halfway and his tie was still hanging loose around his neck.

"Come on bloody frog, the meeting's starting soon. You can't go out like that."

"I know. I'm waiting for my Atlas to come back." France said. "But she's still busy making your tea."

"Don't tell me you don't know how to tie your own tie." England teased.

France fumed.

A smirk made its way onto England's lips. "At least I don't need an Atlas to dress my like a child." He hadn't been allowed to employ an Hetalian, a human that helped care for nations whether it be housekeeping or security in a long time. It was once considered a show of status to have 20 or more Hetalians at a Nation's beck and call. He missed having an Atlas, a sort of personal butler in some cases, to help him with his chores, but it gave him some sense of independence he figured few nations had.

"I remember when you were a child I would dress you." France snapped.

"Do you really want to take credit for my fashion sense?" England laughed as he turned to the closet door where he hung his blazer.

"Well at least help me with this." France pulled at the tie around his neck.

"Nope."

"So prickly today, Rosbif. Looks like you've got a bigger stick stuck up your ass than usual." France said.

England snarled and put on his blazer. He turned to his bed and tried to make the sheets look less half-assed. "What's wrong with you this morning?" France asked. "Arthur," France said, he leaned across the bed and set a light hand on England's shoulder.

"Don't touch me." England smacked his hand away and pretended to smooth out a wrinkle.

"It's nothing." England sighed.

"Well, if that is all…" France got up to leave. He walked with a swagger towards the bedroom door.

"Get back here pervert, you can't go to the meeting with all your chest hairs just hanging about." England grabbed France by his shirt, grasping for an excuse for him to stay. After a moment to gather his bearings, he began to fix France's shirt, "It's nothing, really. It's just that I had some sort of strange dream." England gave undivided focus to France's shirt and started to fit the tiny buttons through the holes.

"Strange how?"

"It was about that man from the Leaky Cauldron again." England finally admitted. He put a button through the wrong hole and began to undo it. "He's one of Harry's teachers, I can't help shake the feeling that something might go wrong-"

France set his hands upon England's and pat them gently. "You're just nervous, I'm sure. This is your first time being apart for so long. But he's at Hogwarts with Dumbledore, he'll be perfectly fine." France brushed a lock of hair out of England's face, and ocean blue irises meet forest green. "Stop worrying already mon petit lapin."

England had a small smile on his face as he tied a simple half Windsor around France's neck.

England finally felt comfortable enough to let lose a small laugh. "Alright. I understand." He sighed and leaned against the wall. "Don't laugh at me, Francis, but I miss him already."

"Now why would I do that, Arthur?" France smiled, "He's your son, of course; distance makes the heart grow fonder, and you'll eagerly await the day he'll be back in your arms—"

England playfully punched France on the shoulder, "Enough of that, It's only been a day, and he's just in Scotland. You're right, he's perfectly safe."

He's in Hogwarts. He's safe. Dumbledore is the greatest wizard of this era. He's safe.

England shrugged and allowed himself to relax, "I just wonder what he's thinking right now..."

* * *

"Do you know if that professor ever smiles?" Harry asked the twins at breakfast.

"Who?' Fred asked.

"That one," Harry nodded his head in the direction of the staff table, "The one with the greasy hair and hooked nose." That teacher had been giving him a strange feeling since they meet eyes during the Sorting and the Great Feast last night.

The twins followed his gaze and burst into laughter "That's Professor Snape. And no, he never smiles." George explained. "We're not even sure if he has teeth." Fred joked.

"Of course he does." Lee Jordan, a friend of the twins corrected them, "you can kind of see them when he sneers at you before he hands back a failed assignment."

"Thash 'im?" Ron said through a mouthful of bacon and eggs. "duaray eoutowen tabut im oo'd ink eewas patrol."

Hermione started to scold him about proper etiquette when she was interrupted by a loud rustling sounded from the ceiling.

"Is there a storm?" Harry asked, looking at the enchanted ceiling. Just a second ago it was all blue and sunny skies, but now there was a mass of grey moving across the mural.

"Just wait for it." George said.

With a loud rumble of flapping wings, what seemed like more than a thousand owls streamed into the Great Hall. The mass of brown and greys circled the four tables, the birds swooped down as they found their owners.

Hedwig arrived as well, and flew in to nibble on Harry's ear. As he picked apart his toast to feed her, Fred spit out his juice, and nearly doused his group of friends in a fine orange spray.

"What was that for?!" Hermione shrieked, thinking of a spell to clean her robes.

Fred nudged George and pointed up at the mass of feathers and wings above the hall. "Look up there!" Harry and Hermione and Ron and Neville followed Fred's finger to the strange bird flying among the owls. Other students at the Gryffindor table followed, and the curiosity spread to the other House tables. Soon, concerned voices filled the Hall and a hundred fingers pointed up to a single bird in crowd. It definitely wasn't an owl.

"What, is that?"

"That's no owl."

"That's a hawk!"

"No way."

"No! Lookit what it's got!"

In its great golden beak was a bright red envelope.

"I feel sorry for whoever's got that." Lee stated through his French toast.

"And so early in the year..." Neville added, who looked nervous in case it was for him, a reminder from his grandmother that he'd forgotten something again.

"What did you do this time?" Percy asked, giving the twins an accusing look.

"We didn't to anything," they said in unison, "yet."

"Well, it's coming this way." Percy said.

"Oh no." Harry winced, as he recognised the great bird.

"Watch out!" Fred and George cried as the bird swooped down over them and dropped the red envelope secured with a red ribbon in Harry's bacon and eggs. Hedwig paid the envelope no mind, happily helping herself to some waffles; and Liberty had flown away, leaving the Gryffindors to deal with the package.

"You've got a Howler!" Ron said, spitting his bacon out in surprise. "Why? What did you do?"

"I don't know! Why? What's a Howler!?" Harry screeched, the red envelope now smoking from the edges and trembling as if about to explode.

"Whatever it is, you'd better open it now, it'll get worse it if you don't. I got one from my gran once." Neville told him, shuddering as he remembered his own experience.

He carefully made a move to pick up the threatening envelope, leaning back from the table and poked it with a fork. He thought it really had exploded as it flew up above his head and a loud voice roared through the Great Hall. Hedwig ducked her head under a wing, and the Gryffindors clapped their hands to their ears at the sound. But Harry would recognise that American accent anywhere.

"YOOOO! CONGRADULATIONS HARRY! I HEARD YOU GOT INTO GRYFFINDOR! THAT WAS MY OLD HOUSE! THE HOUSE OF HEROES! YEAH! TAKE THAT SLYTHERIN!"

The letter boomed, folding itself to resemble a pair of lips, and the ribbon that wrapped it curled up to mimic that gravity defying hair. Uncle Alfred's voice bounced off the walls and high ceiling of the great hall, creating an echoing effect worthy of the greatest of superheroes as he continued. "ANYWHO! ENJOY THE YOUR FIRST YEAR AT HOGWARTS HARRY! MAKE SURE YOU WIN US THE HOUSE CUP! HAHAHA! YOU CAN'T STOP ME FROM SENDING THIS MATTIE! IMMA DO WHAT I WANT! LOVE YOU HARRY! FROM YOUR FAVOURITE UNCLE! ALRIGHT SEE YOU AT CHRISTMAS! BYE!"

And with a puff of smoke, the letter fell back into his breakfast, reduced to a smoldering crisp of its former self. Hedwig poked at it gingerly.

"Wow! That was amazing!" Harry exclaimed with a wide smile and bright eyes. With a laugh he said, "the way you were going off about it sounded like it was a bad thing," Looking out at his friends, their faces were almost as red as the Howler was.

Another owl swooped down toward their group, Arthur's eagle owl, Archimedes. The great big bird landed beside Hedwig and held out its leg to Harry, another letter tied to it.

This time it was from his Uncle Matthew.

"Hello Harry,

I heard you were sorted into Gryffindor. Congratulations, eh! I hope you're having fun and meeting new friends. Be yourself and don't be afraid. Enjoy your new year at Hogwarts!

Your uncles

Mattie and Alfred"

In the signature line, his Uncle Alfred, never ceasing his crazy antics, had tried to sign the letter as 'Alfred the Hero', 'The Best Uncle EVERRRRR' and simply, 'AAAALLLLFRREEED!' All were crossed out, likely by Uncle Matthew.

Harry hugged the letter close to his chest. He appreciated the sentiment from his extended family. He thanked Archimedes and sent him on his way. After a light pet, he sent Hedwig on her way too.

"Well, that was something," Fred smiled as the Gryffindors started to pack up and head off to their first classes.

"Yeah, it was." Harry said as he stuffed the letter neatly into his bag. And then Harry,Ron and Neville headed down the Great Hall to their first class of the day.

It took them a while to navigate through the school to their classes. Hogwarts was like an everchanging labyrinth. There were hundred of staircases that seemed to move as they led to the floors that towered high above the students. The thousands of doors along the halls were confusing too. Some wouldn't open unless they were asked kindly or tickled into finally opening. Some weren't even doors but just solid walls pretending.

It was all confusing, but Harry and Ron found it exciting. What was a little awkward was the stares Harry would get as he passed through the halls or sat in class. Some students would double back and ogle at him and his scar. Even the people that lived in the portaits would give him strange looks as he walked past.

"The Boy Who Lived?" A troll rumbled from behind a tree, as Harry and Ron passed his frame on the way to class. The troll peered as far as the frame of the painting could allow, and pushed a few other bothered occupants out of the way to try and get a good look at Harry, as he and Ron tried to navigate through the crowd to get to potions.

While Ron and Harry tried to push through the undulating crowd of students, the troll continued to dimwittedly trek through picnics, music lessons and modelling sessions within the numerous frames that lined the walls. It was clear that since the Sorting, through the feast, in dreams the previous night, during classes and every minute in between, a sensational thought continued to pass through the minds of the inhabitants of Hogwarts, painted or otherwise.

"Look. There he is."

"The one beside the redhead."

"There's the Boy Who Lived."

"It's really him."

"That's it?"

"Wow I can't believe I'm here with him."

"Did you see his scar?"

"—that he got from beating You-Know-Who, right?"

"Just try to ignore them, mate. At least no one is talking trash about you." Ron said, patting his friend on the back as they made their way out of Professor McGonagall's Transfiguration class, trying to navigate the maze-like school to Potions.

"I know most people are saying nice things about me, but what if it doesn't stop there?" Harry hypothesised, dropping his voice as they passed a group of girls waving at them and ogling at his scar. ("oh my gosh did you get a good look at it?") "What if they expect more from me? If they think I'm so great for defeating You-Know-Who, what if they think I should be great at other things too?"

"And who says you won't be?" Ron said sternly, then he pulled Harry out of the current of the crowd and into an alcove and away from potential eavesdropping. The only thing in the alcove was large painting of a bowl of fruit to keep them company, "Arthur didn't adopt any other kids, right? You were an only child, but I grew up with five older brothers. Bill was Head Boy, Charlie was on the Quidditch team, Percy is a prefect, and everyone loves Fred and George's jokes. But you know what, someday I'll be better than all of them!"

"Wow, you seem pretty confident," Harry have Ron a smirk, "but you grew up surrounded by magic...Arthur hardly told me anything about all this." His insecurity about fitting into this world of magic still managed to creep into his voice.

"Harry, if being good at magic is the only thing you're worried about, we're all in the same boat. Everyone in our year is just starting out. Remember in Professor McGonagall's class? Nobody could turn their toothpick into a needle on their first try, not even that know it all Hermione."

A smile began to creep back onto Harry's face. "Look at me mate," Ron started again, placing a confident hand on Harry's shoulder, "We'll get through this together."

As he said this, the painting seemingly flew off the wall, and knocked the both of them over. The painting had swung open, like a door, and in a small hole in the wall was Neville.

"Oh, I think I got lost again," Neville said, bewildered that his surroundings were still as confusing as ever, and he didn't seem much closer to his next class. "Fred and George told me this was a shortcut to Professor Snape's class." Neville quickly scrambled out from behind the painting and helped the two boys to their feet.

"We thought we lost you after Transfiguration, what happened to you?" Harry asked.

"I forgot my potions notebook in the dorm, and I ran back to go get it. Fred and George were there and told me I could get down closer to the dungeons through here." Neville pointed to the hole behind the painting. Though as impossible as it was, because the two boys knew there was an upper year class on the other side of the wall, a long smooth tunnel trailed back up in the direction of Gryffindor tower and figured Neville came down the thing like a slide. "But at least I have my potions notebook now..." Neville proudly procured a book from his bag, only to have a disheartened look cross his face as he realised it was his charms book instead.

"Don't worry Neville, you can look off one of us this time," Ron said. "Now come on, just down these stairs and then we'll be in the dungeons." Ron waved and took the lead down to class.

"I hope Professor Snape doesn't get mad at us for being late, it's just the first day." Harry checked his watch, they were really cutting it close. He didn't want to get on Professor Snape's bad side. The Head of the Slytherin House had made him feel uncomfortable since he felt his scar prickle when they met eyes on his first night in Hogwarts.

"No bloody chance. Fred and George said he's one of the worst teachers here. And he hates Gryffindor." Ron sighed as they trekked through the dungeons. The cold stone walls were lined with medieval style sconces filled with small green flames in lieu of the paintings and tapestries of the warmer upper floors.

"One of the worst?" Neville nearly shrieked, clearly influenced by the word and rumours of older students, "who could be as bad as Professor Snape?"

"I hear he's not the best, but for different reasons. Professor Binns, the History of Magic teacher." Ron said, "he's a ghost and makes a boring subject even more boring."

Ron had led Harry and Neville down a few wrong corridors, but was able to find the potions classroom, arriving a little late. Unsurprisingly, Hermione was waiting for them inside.

"You're late." Hermione scolded when they finally turned up.

"Only by a minute," Ron said, and they all walked into the class. The class was much like the rest of the dungeons' corridors; green tongues of fire lined the cold stone walls where there wasn't a bookshelf filled with strange bottles of glowing liquid or preserved specimens. There were large tables instead of regular desks here, to accommodate the cauldrons and flames beneath them. The class was divided cleanly down the middle. Students wearing Slytherin's silver and green occupied one side of the room while the students in the gold and red of Gryffindor took their seats on the other.

Professor Snape was in the middle of roll call as Harry and the others took their places at a table on the Gryffindor side. His dark eyes peered over the roll of parchment in his hands to glare at the three Gryffindors that had dared to arrive late to his class. He ran his eyes down the parchment to find the names of the boys who'd just arrived.

"Who might you three be?" he asked and called their names in turn, each boy raised their hand and turned just a bit redder as he called them. Professor Snape rolled his eyes as he passed over the name of yet another Weasley and scoffed at Longbottom.

"Ah, Harry Potter," he paused when he got to the famous name, "our new- celebrity," he sneered, his lips pulling back in a twisted and evil smile. "Thought you could get away with arriving late, did you? That's three points from Gryffindor."

"For all of us?" Neville asked nervously, quaking in his seat and growing red with embarrassment that they'd cost them house points.

"Each," Professor Snape said, "don't think that just because you're with someone who thinks he's special, it doesn't mean you'llreceive special treatment too." Harry took offense to this. He didn't think he was any more special than his other classmates. He just wanted to fit in. Bringing more attention to himself by acting like Snape accused was the last thing he wanted. He opened his mouth to speak but both Hermione and Ron kicked him under the table.

"Don't talk back to a teacher," Hermione whispered, "you'll lose us the house points I earned us." Harry begrudgingly agreed.

Then, Draco Malfoy and his cronies arrived to the class. Snape shook his head in dismay at seeing even more students arrive late. He quickly scanned the parchment for the names of the newcomers. "Crabbe. Goyle. Malfoy." He sneered through thin lips. "Arrive to my class on time, or do not arrive at all."

"Sorry, sir, we got lost, it is our first day after all." Malfoy reasoned, wearing a smirk of feigned innocence on his face.

"Well, now you know where the class is. Pray you will not interrupt my class again. Take your seats." Snape hissed at the boys, but offered no punishment other than his warning. The twins were right, Professor Snape favoured his own house over any other. Harry hoped that was the extent of Professor Snape's unfairness, but it would only get worse.

Professor Snape finally finished roll call and looked down at the students in their seats. His eyes were dark like Hagrid's, but possessed none of that kind warmth. Harry felt like he was falling into a cold dark tunnel when they met eyes as Professor Snape scanned the class. Harry turned to avoid his gaze.

"Hopefully, we won't have any more interruptions." His voice barely registered above a whisper, but the class could hear his every word loud and clear. Professor Snape had a gift for keeping a class silent with little effort. "For those of you who made it on time, you will learn the subtle science and exact art of potion making. For those of you who arrived late, you will soon understand there is no foolish wand-waving here and hardly recognise the art of potion making as magic. Here you will learn to bottle fame, brew glory and even put a stopper on death- that is, if you aren't as big a bunch of dunderheads as I usually have to teach."

The class remained silent. Harry, Ron and Neville exchanged nervous glances. Hermione puffed her chest and sat at the edge of her seat, eager to prove she wasn't a dunderhead. She'd exceed Professor Snape's expectations.

"Potter!" Professor Snape said suddenly, startling the class and nearly pouncing on a chance to single out Harry. "What would I get if I added powdered root of asphodel to an infusion of wormwood?"

A powder of what to an infusion of what? Harry snuck a glance to Ron and Neville who looked just as clueless. Hermione's hand shot in the air. Professor Snape paid it no mind.

Harry shook his head and shrugged his shoulders. "I don't know, sir."

"You don't know. We'll let's try this again, Potter. Where would you look if I told you to find a bezoar?"

Again, Harry had no idea what he was being asked. Hermione tried taking the professor's attention off the helpless Harry and started to wave her hand to a slight rhythm. She went ignored.

"Well, Potter?"

"I don't know, sir."

"Tell me Potter, what is the difference between monkshood and wolfsbane?"

Hermione was nearly out of her seat with her hand held high, but she could have been invisible for all the professor cared, as he continued to bore his dark eyes into Harry.

Harry shook his head, "I don't know sir."

"Pity," Snape sneered. "Clearly, fame isn't everything, Mr. Potter."

"Clearly, Hermione knows. It'd be a pity not to ask her." Harry said.

Professor finally turned to face Hermione, a vein pulsing in his forehead. "Put your hand down you silly girl."

He stalked through the tables to where Harry was sitting and leaned in close enough to the point Harry could count almost every greasy hair that framed the Professor's angular face.

"For your information, Potter," he spat, "asphodel and wormwood make a sleeping potion so powerful it is known as the Draught of Living Death. A bezoar is a stone taken from the stomach of a goat and it will save you from most poisons. As for monkshood and wolfsbane, they are the same plant, which also goes by the name of aconite." He enunciated every word with condescension and disdain, and he never ceased to sneer as he explained.

"Well," he got up and turned to the rest of the class, "Why aren't the rest of you writing this down?"

The students scrambled for quills and parchments from their bags to try and jot down the 'lesson'. Snape returned to his desk, but shot another cold scowl at Harry.

"Take note," he said in that harsh and quiet voice, "that 5 more points will be taken from Gryffindor for your classmate's cheek."

If Harrythought this first interaction with Snape was bad, the rest of the lesson only got worse and worse.

After a potions fiasco where Neville and Dean had to rush to Madame Pomfrey (a disaster that Professor Snape used as an opportunity to take points from Gryffindor again, all while blaming Harry), class was dismissed and Harry and his friends were finally free to leave. They were all eager to return to the upper levels of Hogwarts and to leave the cold dungeons, and Snape behind. Harry had never expected to be treated like he was in Professor Snape's class. He couldn't stand the sense of loathing he had felt from Snape when the professor laid eyes on him or his scar. He remembered how his uncles Alfred and Oz had liked his scar, acting as if he were a superhero that could control lightning. Harry had always thought his scar made him cool and unique, but now it held a different meaning. Here in the wizarding world, it was bringing him nothing but more and more attention. And it was all because of the lightning bolt on his head.

* * *

"I'm going to be late!" Chun-Yan called behind her as she dashed out of the library, across the lawn of the campus, through the quiet halls of the building and up the ancient stone stairs; all the while trying to make sure she didn't drop any of the freshly photocopied stacks of paper along the way. She was certainly the one of the only students in a rush, because it was only nine in the morning. The few other students who were around were sitting on benches or leaning on the walls, still catching z's.

"What are you so happy about? I didn't know Aldrich was this evil, setting a class this early. It's just the first day of class. And it's history, it's boring. You're not missing anything," her friend Jack called from behind her.

"I'm his PA, I have to be there. And history is not boring. Professor Kirkland actually makes history fun." Her eyes gleamed as she anticipated working for one of her favourite professors.

"Sure. I've seen his teaching schedules, it's not humanly possible."

Chun-Yan scoffed and tried to run ahead of Jack, struggling to open a door without dropping any papers. With a small laugh, Jack opened the door as a sign of apology.

"Besides, this class isn't even that early. There's a Shakespeare class that starts at 7 am." Jack visibly shuddered at this as they held the door open for Chun-Yan.

"He told me about that one. I thought he was joking." Jack said, appalled.

"Nope. But you really don't have to tag along, you're not even a student here, I mean, should you even be here? Sneaking into your boyfriend's class when you've got a job to do?"

"He's not my boyfriend anymore, we're engaged." Jack said.

"But you said no," Chun-Yan laughed.

"I had to, he doesn't know we're wizards yet." Jack whispered. "I mean, what if he freaks out?"

"He won't. He was deployed to Afghanistan in the special forces, if he can handle that, he won't freak out over the fact the stuff he's studying is actually real." She teased. "Well anyway, just say yes already, I want to be your maid of honour," she added.

"Ha, I'll think about it, and my shift doesn't start 'till later this afternoon. I finally have some time to just chill out again. You know how that last minute back to school rush is like. Helping students make sure they've got all the right books for their OWLs and NEWTs, showing parents the ropes on how to make sure their precious little muggleborn is safe in the wizarding world. Not to mention we got a shipment of the Monster Book of Monsters, one of them almost bit my face off!"

"Shut up, shut up! You can't talk about that kind of stuff here." Chun-Yan scolded in a hushed voice, "this is one of the biggest muggle universities in the country."

"Look around. This building's a ghost town."

As much as she didn't want to admit it, Jack was right. The only other person in the hallway was a student sprawled across a bench, a couple snores escaping from under their backpack. But it didn't give Jack an excuse to talk about the wizarding world so casually. She quickly scanned the hall if anyone from inside a room could have heard them, but only one door was alight.

"Here it is," Chun-Yan said as she pushed the auditorium door open. A couple of students had already taken their seats, and a few more would still fill in after her little outburst.

"Here sir," Chun-Yan said as she handed the professor the stack of papers.

"Thank you, an' I told you, you can call me Aldrich." The silver specks in the dark green coloured contacts over his eyes sparkled as he greeted her, and a look of surprise crossed his face as he turned to Jack. "Hullo, Jack. What exactly are you doing here?" he asked, nearly dropping the papers.

"This is the job of your dreams, isn't it? And I have half the day off. So I thought, why not? I'll see what the fuss is about." Jack lazily shrugged their shoulders, but a small smile played across their lips.

"Well, fine. But it'll be pretty boring."

"Aldrich, I defended you." Chun-Yan sulked.

"Just sit in the back and don't cause trouble. Now go on, lumberjack." Aldrich smiled as he waved Jack away.

"I'm not even wearing plaid today!"

"And lose the sunglasses. Shoo. Shoo." Aldrich teased, as he divided the stack of paper to little piles for the students to pick up.

Chun-Yan retreated behind the professor's desk and started to set up their PowerPoint as Aldrich walked to the front of the class, adjusting a microphone clipped to his tie as he went. "Alrigh', sleepy heads, good job on making it here early. I brought TimBits, so grab some if you want. And if you haven't downloaded the syllabus already, grab a copy, and a sheet for your first assignment from the front here. Those of you just comin' in, take a seat, anywhere is fine," he said, his British accent would take some getting used to, it was a bit stronger than what the students expected, even out here in Canada.

Jack made their way up to the back of the auditorium by themself. Looking around, they saw the room was nearly full, which was impressive for the first lecture. Though most of the students there had yet to completely shake off their sleep, the crowd of students seated near the front looked wide awake.

"Good mornin' everyone. Can everyone hear me?" Aldrich asked, tapping his mic. "Alrigh' I know some of you are still a wee bit tired or hungover from partyin' last night," a few whoops could be heard from a small group in the back, "Thank you, for those who made it here this morning. I see a few familiar faces in the crowd, I might 'ave been your T.A. if you took a Shakespeare, or fantasy and folklore course last year." A few students near the front gave a small wave. The professor smiled in return.

"For those who don't know me, I am Professor Aldrich McAllister-Kirkland." The man said as he addressed the class, his name and the course code, along with his and Chun-Yan's university email and office hours projected up onto the big screen at the front of the auditorium. The bright light of the screen illuminated his neat mop of fiery red hair, and backlit his sharp tailored suit. "You can call me Aldrich or Professor Kirkland, whichever you're comfortable with. 'Your Majesty' could work too," this gained a few tired laughs from the crowd. "This is Chun-Yan," He gestured to the girl who gave an enthusiastic wave. "She's my personal assistant, but there is a work study position available in the History Department. If any of you want to earn credits and somethin' that'll look good on your resume, check to see if any of your other professors are offerin' a position. Anyway, welcome to Introduction to World History."

He nodded to Chun-Yan, who pressed a button and the words "Quiz Number One" popped onto the screen.

"Ge' out your i-clickers. 10 questions, multiple choice." The groans of sleep deprived and hungover students rumbled through the room, "Dun't worry, dun't worry, I'm not that evil." Jack's laugh echoed from the back of the auditorium. Professor Kirkland waved his hands in defence, "this quiz is anonymous an' won't count in your final mark, we'll just see what we're goin' to learn this semester. We'll review and discuss the answers on the board an' see what we all know. Are you up for that?"

A few students dozing in the back returned to their sleep, having partied too late the night before. The ones up front perked up, their fingers on the remote trigger, eager to show what they know. The rest nodded, it wouldn't hurt to give it a try.

Jack smirked, thinking they'd play along in their head. This wasn't the first time Jack had snuck into Aldrich's classes. He'd usually teach the English Lit. and Shakespeare tutorials as a T.A., going over the 'homework' and overseeing pop quizzes. Aldrich was so excited when he finally graduated and got his masters. Now he had taken over the first year History class, giving the department head more time to write books. Jack looked down to the professor, seeing their fiancé in his element, teaching his true passion for the first time, and couldn't help but smile.

Down below, Professor Kirkland clapped his hands and smiled, "Alright! On the board, Question One!"

Despite what her classmates in her biology class would say, Chun-Yan refused to believe that history could ever be boring—especially when Professor Kirkland was at the front of the class. Chun-Yan was quite enjoying history with Professor Kirkland. She was never a history major, she was working on a degree in bio-engineering. The interest in physics and medical science that was sparked by the near universe-breaking spells she cast and various potions she'd brewed since childhood seemed so much more interesting than learning about old and ancient, long dead things from a time now past. But the Scotsman changed that for her, he taught in a way that made history at the very least, entertaining; and at the most, relevant and important even in today's world.

The only reason she stumbled into Professor Kirkland was because she was taking English Literature as a minor when she was an undergrad. But despite that, the history and English literature professor quickly became one of her favourites. It didn't help matters that the man was actually one of her best friend's fiancé too.

But she had to agree with some of the upper years, the professor was a tad eccentric. From what she remembered from his fantasy and folklore classes, the way he talked about magical creatures like werewolves, vampires, elves and orcs, one would get the impression that the professor believed they were actually real. Of course, Tolkien's elves were worlds apart from wizards' house elves, and the closest thing to an orc she could think of was probably a mountain troll. Even his Shakespeare classes were entertaining, as he could pick out every dirty joke hidden in the plays. His eccentrics didn't stop there.

In the few weeks before the start of the school year, Professor Kirkland would practice his lessons with Chun-Yan, just to make sure he stayed on topic. The strange man had a slight tenancy to go off on tangents, and devolve to describing the countries as if they were people. Even during the first lesson, when he explained each answer for the quiz, even though he and Chun-Yan practiced, he couldn't resist explaining colonial America and Canada under England as a very dysfunctional trio of brothers. At least he stayed on topic when he explained the difference between the Ancient and the Holy Roman Empire, or events during the World Wars. Chun-Yan chalked it all up to his anxiety disorder, and suspected it was part of one of the methods he used to keep a level head.

And it seemed to have worked. By the end of it all, Professor Kirkland was still breathing calmly, a wide and satisfied smile on his face. As Chun-Yan bid the students goodbye, pointing them in the general directions of their next class or a good place to grab a late breakfast, they wore similar expressions, and a certain air floated about them all; they were looking forward to the rest of the year.

"Well, how did I do?" Aldrich asked Chun-Yan and Jack as he gathered the last of his things and cleared the auditorium. They still had a couple hours until Aldrich and Chun-Yan needed to attend a department meeting, and Jack's shift didn't start until the afternoon. They headed to the elevator to get a quick bite to eat at the campus dining hall across the street.

"Not as boring as I thought it would be," Jack complemented, "I think I stayed awake for the first half," they joked.

"Oh haha, very funny Jack," Aldrich gave them a light punch on the shoulder. "I did great, didn't I Chun-Yan?"

"You slipped up and called Canada and America brothers instead of sisters, again." Chun-Yan criticised as she pressed the button for the ground level.

"Oops," he cringed, and rubbed the back of his hand on his forehead in embarrassment.

"And you referred to Hungary as a 'her' alright, but Austria as 'he'," she cried, "What countries are called 'he', Aldrich?"

"A-A lot of them," he stammered, "all but Taiwan and Belgium and Sey- never mind," he cut himself short and shook his head, rubbing his forehead again. "Just a force of habit."

"Al, your makeup," Jack pointed at the professor.

Aldrich glanced at his hand and saw the foundation he'd meticulously applied earlier that morning, smeared messily on his skin.

"Bloody hell," he gasped, looking into the mirrored walls of the elevator. His scar was peeking out from behind the thick hairs of his eyebrow, and his makeup was flaking away. He whipped his backpack off his shoulder and with a light thud it was on the floor. He quickly rummaged through his backpack for his makeup bag, but as the numbers of the elevator chimed closer to the bottom, his search grew more frantic. "No, no, no, I know I packed it this mornin'."

"Calm down professor, no one's seen it yet," Chun-Yan offered, digging behind a history textbook and unzipping a pocket to help the man close his hands around a small black bag of makeup. "Just fix it in a washroom, you'll be fine."

Once the elevator doors opened, he dashed out of the car, covering his forehead with his hand, looking down the halls for a washroom.

"I saw one on our way up," Jack said, "don't make it look so obvious, follow me." They grabbed Aldrich's arm, and they ducked into a nearby washroom while Chun-Yan stood outside.

"Does it look bad?" Aldrich asked, concern marring his face.

Jack remembered the first time they'd seen Aldrich without his layers of make up and clothes. He had scars all over his body, whether they were by shrapnel or were self inflicted, Aldrich took care to hide each and every one. Tiny little scars dotted the flesh on his neck, along his back and shoulder blades and down his shoulders, like a sunburn. The skin along both his arms were warped with scars, and were hidden under layers of decorative tattoos. But the worst one had marred much his face. An old scar of raised and shiny skin ran down his forehead to the top of his left cheek in a diagonal line. It looked clean and straight, like a knife was brought across his face; taking a nick out of his thick eyebrow and rendering the eye in the middle of it all damaged and blind. When they first moved into an apartment together, Jack asked how Aldrich had got the scar.

'My father gave it to me,' came the answer, followed by 'And now I must capture the Avatar to restore my honour!'

At least this time Aldrich didn't rub away all the makeup, hiding the worst of it.

"It's honestly not that bad, just fix yourself up." Jack patted Aldrich's back for reassurance. Glancing over their shoulder to see they were alone in the washroom. "You're safe, Chun-Yan is just outside and no one else is in here."

"Right, right," he mumbled as he assessed himself in the mirror, he turned in to a stall, grabbed a handful of toilet paper and ran it under the tap. "I'm sorry you had to see me like that again." Aldrich said quietly, after taking in some gulps of air, trying to prevent a full on anxiety attack. Then he brought the wad of paper to his eye and slowly started wiping away the ruined make up and counting backwards under his breath.

"Are you sure you're okay?" Jack asked, "You were doing so well but the past few days you've been-"

"I told you it's just nerves." Aldrich tossed the paper into a bin by the door. Then he took out a small bottle of foundation and began brushing it on.

The room was quiet, save for the din of foot traffic outside the washroom or the echo of a toilet from the other side of the wall. The only sound between the two was the click of opening and closing makeup bottles and Aldrich counting under his breath.

"Last night you were screaming in your sleep." Jack said. "For Alice. Did you know that?" Jack asked.

Aldrich flinched and nearly dropped the container he was holding. "No," Aldrich breathed. He slowly closed up the last of his makeup bottles, and zipping the bag shut, "I didn't".

"Should I call Elizabeth?"

"Pfft, there's no reason to bother me mum." Aldrich forced a laugh, his face a clear mask, free of injury to the unknowing eye. "You know if there was a real problem she would have called me." He joked, Elizabeth had some sort of heightened and even strange sense of mother's intuition.

"But Al, the past few days you've been on edge. Other than last night, you haven't had an episode in months—"

"Jack, this isn't a real episode." Aldrich assured Jack, but they weren't really buying it. "It's the first day of school, I'm allowed to be a little nervous aren't I?"

"If you were a student, sure. But you're the professor." Jack countered.

"Oh come off it Jack," Aldrich pleaded, and stepped toward Jack, "you said so yourself I've been doin' better. I've got the job of my dreams, Chun-Yan helps me with my work and," he took Jack's hand into his own and fiddled with the promise ring on Jack's finger, "and I have you."

"Just promise me you'll be okay." Jack said.

"It's just nerves. Really, I'm fine." Aldrich said, looking into each other's eyes, Jack saw Aldrich was sincere.

"Alright then, if you're really fine, you wouldn't mind treating me to a late breakfast." Jack said, Aldrich rolled his eyes but agreed. "Let's go get something to eat." Jack led the way out of the building.

"Are you feeling better, Aldrich?" Chun-Yan asked. Aldrich replied with a rushed thanks and a curt nod. He was finally breathing easy again as they made their way out of the building and across the street. It was almost noon by the time the three of them had made their way to the campus dining hall and walked out with assorted lunches. The lunch time rush was in full swing and the dining hall was incredibly crowded, but just outside, in the square behind the Sir Daniel Wilson residence, it was easier to breathe.

Tall oak trees provided cool shade for students and other passersby, and the Victorian style buildings buffered the sound of the bustling city traffic to a quiet hum. There were a couple tables and benches where some students ate or studied, while some simply sat on the lush grass beneath the trees.

"There's a table open over there," Aldrich pointed to a wooden picnic table under a tree and they all continued their lunch. Halfway through a casual chat about sports (the Leafs continued to be a disappointment), something caught Aldrich's eye.

"Wow, what a beauty," he pointed to a barn owl, perched in a branch above them. The barn owl stared back at the group of people below it. As the bird studied Aldrich, Aldrich did the same, "wait a minute, is it wearing a saddle?"

Chun-Yan and Jack's eyes went wide. They looked up at the bird and saw it wasn't wearing a saddle, but a pouch for knuts and sickles. A post owl, and it was for one of them.

"Hey, it looks like it's got a letter. What, did one of the birds from Medieval Times escape? " Aldrich joked, getting up from his seat and reaching up for the rolled bit of parchment tied to the bird's leg. The bird hopped down the branch, away from Aldrich's reach. "It looks like it has your name on it Jack," Aldrich noted as he climbed onto the table and reached for the bird again.

"Al, don't!" Jack warned, but Aldrich's fingers had already brushed the owl's downy feathers. His face took on a sudden look of vacancy. He blinked, and his empty eyes looked full again, as if he'd realised something very important.

He looked down at Chun-Yan and Jack, both wearing looks of shock to counter his expression of pure bliss. Then he glanced at his watch and gasped. "Bloody hell, I'm late for my dentist appointment!"

He jumped down from the table and scurried to get his things together. He tossed the last bits of his lunch and trash into a nearby bin and slugged his bag over his shoulder.

"I'll see you two later!" Aldrich waved as he ran out of the green square and down the city sidewalk, bumped into a group of tourists, apologised, and continued on his way.

Chun-Yan clutched at her stomach and gave a hearty laugh.

"This isn't funny, Chun-Yan!" Jack cried, smacking her across her shoulder. He paid the owl a knut and unrolled the small piece of parchment.

"Well it's kind of funny," she wiped a tear from her eye, "he sure got dazed out by that anti-muggle charm!" she whispered in Jack's ear. "So what's the letter say?"

"Its from work," they sighed, "John owled in sick and Claire's been trying to contact me to fill in."

"I thought the bookstore had a rotary phone." Chun-Yan asked, the antique, steampunk-esque telephones were a new means of wizard communication to avoid relying on so many owls in the city and drawing attention in the muggle world.

"Claire's the only one there right now, she's a pureblood and doesn't have a clue how to use it." Jack explained, packing up their own finished lunch and trash. "I've got to go. Please take care of Al."

"I've never let you down have I?" Chun-Yan called to Jack's retreating back. They waved their arm in response, and turned the corner. Chun-Yan cleaned up her own lunch as well and headed down the direction Aldrich had gone. She had to get him to the department meeting that afternoon, and make sure he made it through the week.


	9. 1-4 Welcome to HETALIA

Stop being so nervous," America said again as he continued to drive to the meeting place.

"I'm not nervous." Amelia said, her tapping on the car door kept time with her new watch. The steady and continuous ticking of the tiny gears were almost foreign to her. Mr. England had given her an old spare while Mr. Wales was repairing her digital one. Applying the magic charms that helped the muggle and squib agents bypass anti-muggle wards, help captains keep track of their teams or give her a boost in the occlumency department in a way that didn't interfere with the watch's digital workings was tricky at best; but keeping track of time was essential for the humans who worked alongside the Nations, and these wristwatches were one of their most valuable tools.

"Hey." America nudged her shoulder playfully.

"What? I told you, I'm not nervous, see?" Amelia said shooting a wide smile at her uncle, though she didn't meet his eyes. She avoided his gaze and looked right past him as his rental car drove along the bridge, the steel and glass skyscrapers of the Frankfurt skyline shone like crystals in the morning light. Her tapping on the door of the car began to quicken to a near furious and erratic pace as they soon left the bridge behind them and made their way deeper into the city. The colourful brick and wood buildings zoomed passed them, and the distance between her and the meeting place was shrinking by the second. In the side mirror she could see a nation security vehicle a few car lengths behind them. It wouldn't be the last security she saw that day.

"You fidget when you're nervous." He said as he placed a hand on her shoulder for support and encouraged her to stop. The bomber jacket he got her as a graduation present fit nicely over her toned, athletic build. He carefully traced the embroidery of the solid red chevron stitched into the jacket's shoulder. "Yo, what are you listening to?" he asked as he pulled lightly on the cord of her headphones.

"Hairspray." She replied as Tracy and Link sang their number in her ears.

"Ha, again?"

"Well it's one of my favourites," she said. She had stopped tapping on the door in favour of fiddling with the leather strap of Mr. England's watch. "It helps calm me down." The upbeat tunes never failed to give her a boost in confidence, which she felt she needed now. The tall office building, the venue for that day's meeting loomed over them, casting a long shadow over the road.

"If you need your fix of Broadway, I think that counts as at least a little homesick." America teased as he pulled up to the security box. He flashed his ID and his thousand watt smile at the operator, who lifted the security bar and he continued to drive down into the underground parking lot. The security vehicle followed them closely.

"You know, we can meet the Little Dragons another day," he said as he scanned the lot for an empty space for them and their tail. Finding none on the first level, he continued down, deeper into the earth. "The Captain's a good man, I'm sure he won't mind, and that team is kind of laid back, this is probably one of their first missions anyway, I'll just shoot him a text—"

"I'm fine, really Uncle Alfred," Amelia said, staying his hand from his cell phone. She cut the duo in the middle of their chorus and took her headphones off, wrapping her iPod in the cord and shoved the whole thing into the glove compartment. "See? I'm not nervous. I'm just excited to finally be here, that's all."

She allowed herself to reminisce as America continued looking for a spot. She fiddled again with the watch. It wasn't her own, but it was still her ticket into the world of Nations. It was fourteen years ago that she received a letter from an American eagle and learned she was a witch. Not only that, but she learned that her adopted father wasn't just a high ranking government official, but was actually the anthropomorphic personification of the US State of New York. So when it came time to choose between theatre school, Ilvermorny or the American H.E.T.A.L.I.A. Academy; she chose the latter.

Hetalia, or Homeland and External Territories Assistance, Logistics and Intervention Agency was an organisation concerned with the protection and assistance of anthropomorphised Nations, and in some cases, their provinces or states. After she'd graduated, she worked in their administration division for a few years. Finding that a desk job wasn't exactly her cup of Joe, she'd transferred to S.P.A.R.T.N, often dubbed 'Spartan', the small but powerful militarised faction of the organisation. According to Alfred, that's where all the fun happens. Of course, it could have been his own obsession with super heroes that gave him a slight bias, but Amelia believed him.

"So you're ready to meet your team today?" America asked as he finally pulled into a spot and killed the ignition, his bright blue eyes shone even under the dim yellow lights of the lot.

"Yes," Amelia said, her own pair of blue irises sparkled in return.

They got out of the car, and greeted America's body guard. They made their way across the parking lot to a set of elevators, claiming one elevator car for themselves. The body guard gave the two some privacy. America punched the button for the lobby, and Amelia found her confidence slightly rose as they climbed back up to the surface.

"Spartan," She breathed at her distorted reflection in the polished metal interior of the elevator, running a hand through her short wheat blonde hair. She had just had it cut to regulation length as part of preparation to join the "Security and Protection of Anthropomorphic Regions, Territories and Nations. It's gotta be a fun gig, even if it's a bit of a mouthful." She joked.

"I'll bet," America replied with a warm smile, "and it's a pretty cool acronym. You're going to have fun being a hero and kicking bad guys down wells for me."

"I'll be sure to do that Uncle Alfred." She smiled as she gave him a playful punch on the shoulder. "I wonder how long it took for someone to come up with these acronyms."

"I'm guessing someone was trying really hard to get you guys a cool sounding name." He replied with a shrug.

"Well Spartan sounds cool, but what does Hetalia mean?"

"I don't really know." He stroked his chin trying to think, "but it rolls off the tongue well enough. Besides, if it's not Spartan, it's a boring desk job at Atlas. I don't bother much with that."

"Uncle, I used to have one of those boring desk jobs." She smiled to herself. If she could make fun of her old job now, she was sure she could handle her new one. "And aren't they mostly your secretaries or political advisors?"

"That's why I don't have to bother much with it!"

America winced as he heard the sharp smack of Amelia hitting her own forehead, "Uncle Alfred that's important!"

The elevator dinged and opened to the somewhat crowded lobby. Men and women in business suits and dress shirts milled through the lobby, carrying briefcases and laptop cases to their offices. Across the way, America could see Commander Waverly and the two Captains near the entrance for a staff lounge.

"There he is." America pointed to the three in slightly less formal wear than the rest of the crowd. "Ready to meet your new team?"

Amelia nodded confidently. "Let's go."

"Yo, sup dudes, I'd like you to meet my niece, Amelia," America introduced her to the three officers with flourish and fanfare. Security badges and a few weapons hung from their belts, and small Spartan helmet patches, embroidered with golden thread gleamed proudly over their hearts. Amelia suddenly felt the weight of her own badge on her hips. She kept her wand strapped here too, as did the Commander in Chief, but she didn't see anything else on the other Captains' belts.

She saluted the two Captains and greetings of 'good morning' were exchanged. Then she turned to salute the Commander.

Amelia had already met them all when she was a kid. Of course they only met during the few down times between missions. But all the big kids got to go out with the adults and have fun fighting Death Eaters and whatnot. It was interesting, seeing the new Commander in Chief, Will Waverly, after so long when she applied to Spartan. And training with Captain Song really gave her a wicked dose of nostalgia. They'd grown so much from her earliest memories of them. It was as if she was meeting new people.

"Private Jones," Cmdr. Waverly said as he took her hand, she'd really have to get used to people calling her 'Private Jones'. "It's a pleasure to see you again," he said, the slightest hint of a New Jersey accent in his speech stood out more to Amelia than she liked to admit. He gave her a firm handshake, his gold wedding band was slightly cool as it brushed against her skin. Waverly's dark eyes seemed cold, but he tried his best to greet her warmly. The middle aged wizard had dark brown hair that was salted with grey strands, and although he had to walk with a cane, it didn't detract from the air of authority that surrounded him. The red epaulettes with gold stripes on his shoulders only added to elevate him above the others.

"This is my team," he said, gesturing to the pair of muggles beside him; a brunette woman with shoulder length wavy hair and olive skin wearing a leather jacket, then an Asian man whose dark hair was pulled back into a ponytail that fell onto his navy blue security windbreaker. Both of them had bright blue chevrons emblazoned upon their shoulders, they were merely human.

"Captain Waverly," the woman said, she tried to soften her hard green eyes with a small smile. A wedding band to match the commander's shined on her finger.

"Captain Song," the other man introduced himself, "Pleasure to see you again, Private Jones," Capt. Song greeted her with a firm handshake. She met the Macanese captain at eye level, his gold irises expressing the same trying warmth as the commander's.

Amelia felt all their eyes held some sort of burdened feeling, the kind of look she got from most of the nations. She expected as much, these were the captains of the International Branch of Spartan after all, and the last remnants of a special team that was put together to combat the Death Eaters. She'd actually wanted to be join this dream team since she entered the world of the Nations, the heroes among heroes. Of course, she was much too young, but then again, the people before her weren't much older than she was now when the operation was finally disassembled.

"That's a nice wristwatch you've got there," Capt. Song said, his voice empty but his golden eyes nearly glued to the steel grey face of her borrowed watch. The others turned to Amelia, her wrist burning under their cold, stabbing gazes.

"Oh, um, thank you, sir," Amelia explained the situation, twirling a lock of hair. Glancing at the other three's watches, she noticed something.

"Hey! You all have the same watches!" America exclaimed, his inability to read the tense atmosphere never ceased to amaze, "that's so cool, you all match already! Ha!"

Cmdr. Waverly's grip on his cane tightened.

"Right, Mr. America, would like an escort to the conference room?" Capt. Waverly asked suddenly.

"Oh come on, Captain, a hero like me can handle himself!" a few paces behind him, America's body guard stood, shifting on his feet. "Let's go bro!" America called the guard over and started to run down a hallway. After giving a sideways look to the captains, he saluted and charged after the Nation.

"They're going the wrong way," Capt. Waverly sighed as she went off on a jog to catch up to them.

"Well, I'd better keep rotating to check the other teams," Cmdr. Waverly said. "The meeting starts at the top of the hour, brief her, and we'll meet again shortly." He said, exchanging salutes again, and then slowly made his way down another hall. His limp didn't stop him from walking straight, tall and proud.

"Okay, those were the Waverlys, want to meet the Little Dragons now?" Capt. Song offered Amelia a gentle smile. Amelia nodded and was ushered through a door and into the staff lounge where she was greeted by whirlwinds of energy, and bright sets of eyes.

"I called it! She's got a wand!"

"Hell yeah! Pay up Private."

"Oh come on! You have to buy me lunch later please!"

Amelia watched as various bills change hands between the team members. Their relaxed laughter and wide smiles stunned her. In contrast to their captains, the team seemed almost wild. From her spot beside the Captain, she could see a few wands hanging from their belts.

"Lieutenant Volkova!" Song scolded a witch with a loose braid of platinum blonde hair and violet eyes. She was currently exchanging money with a young blond wizard who looked to the Captain with hope, as if he would prevent the lieutenant from claiming her prize. Song's stern look seemed to communicate as much.

"Right sir!" the woman said with the slightest hint of a Russian accent, shoving her teammate's money back into his pocket. "Everyone at attention!"

The team arranged themselves into a line, standing straight with their shoulders squared and their arms held stiffly at their sides. Upon their shoulders were epaulettes with a single, thin gold stripe. They all looked slightly older than she was, but she couldn't tell by how much they really were. She thought, considering who their great grandparents were, they could even be ten or twenty years her senior.

"At ease, men," Song said, and the team's postures relaxed slightly. "Private Jones, this is your new team." He waved to the line and they introduced themselves one by one.

"Lieutenant, Valkyrie Volkova," the witch with violet eyes introduced herself. Red chevrons similar to Cmdr. Waverly's adorned her shoulders. A spark of recognition flared in her eyes, and she gave Amelia a small smile. "You can call me Valka."

The others were completely new faces and introduced themselves in the formal way.

"Private, Luciano Laguardia," an energetic young Italian man with auburn hair said, "I am also known as Tuscany." A gold stripe cut through the middle of the blue chevron on his shoulder.

"Private, Takehiko Yumiko," a young Japanese woman, about the same age as Amelia, with a bright purple streak in her hair chimed. "I'm Kyoto." She also wore a blue and gold chevron upon her shoulder

"Private, Markus Messer, Bavaria." the German blond wizard who almost lost his money in a bet. He had a red chevron with a gold stripe stitched into his uniform.

"And I'm Private Amelia F. Jones, from New York." she returned.

"Private Jones, this is the Little Dragons team," Capt. Song said, as he began to brief and review their duties to her, his Chinese accent barely noticeable. "Unlike the other Spartan teams, we're not directly associated with only one Nation. The International Branch deals almost exclusively with matters in the magical world, or extreme threats to the nation. That's why we're here today, it's one of those strange days where a muggle world, and a magical world meeting fall within the same week. We're just here as extra security, there are three people of interest we have to take care of today, a Nation and both their bosses. Understand?"

"Yes, sir." She replied.

"I know it's your first day, but I need you to be on board right away, the Ministers of Magic may trust you more because you're a witch too." He explained, he motioned to his own belt, where a security badge, a tazer and a handgun were kept, but no wand.

"I understand, sir."

"Great. You'll head out with Lieut. Volkova and Pte. Messer when we get called." The captain instructed, her new magical companions gave her small waves. He glanced at his watch, "That should still be a while from now. You've got time to mingle and get to know each other." With a shrug, he left Amelia in the hands of his team, and went to the staff kitchenette to make a batch of coffee.

"Soooo, 'F. Jones', huh?" Takehiko sidled up to Amelia and gave her a sly grin, "Does that mean you are New York?"

"I'm not a state, I'm a human," she pointed to her shoulder where her solid red chevron lay, severely lacking in the gold stich that denoted Nation ancestry, "but my adopted father is New York."

"Ah, but you're really still close to 'the home of the Brave', right?" Takehiko inquired.

"Yes, I am, and 'the True North, Strong and Free' as well." Amelia said, trying to mimic Takehiko's roundabout way of saying 'America' to describe her Uncle Matthew.

"Aces. So you know who he's dating right now, right? It's Mrs. Belarus, isn't it?"

"What?" the blunt question caught her off guard.

"Oh come on, Yumiko," Pte. Messer chuckled, "Mr. America is with Mr. England. Everybody knows that."

"Of all the things to introduce her to you start with that?" Song called from the kitchen, sipping a mug.

"Relax, sir, it is all fun and games. Nothing more than that." Volkova reasoned, turning back to Amelia, she asked, "You know about our betting games, right?"

"Oh, I heard about all this back at Atlas," Amelia sighed. The Spartans had some friendly rivalry with the Atlas Agents, and occasionally bet on which Nation was occupying who's vital regions. Of course, the big bookworms at Atlas had degrees in political science or economics and kept track of alliances and trade agreements, but the Spartans knew who they spent late night excursions with. Her co-workers back at Atlas thought her special relation to some of the nations would give them an advantage in the games, but Amelia's stance on the subject was still the same. "What Uncle Alfred and Kiku do together after hours is none of your business." She said firmly.

There was a brief moment of silence as the other dragons processed what she'd just said. Amelia turned red as Volkova gave a hearty laugh.

"Who's 'Kiku'?" Messer asked.

"That's Mr. Honda! I mean Mr. Japan!" Takehiko gasped.

"Che palle, and I put some money on Mr. Russia." Laguardia cursed, looking close to pulling out his hair.

"I should have put money on my home country!" Takehiko lamented and sprawled herself across a couch. "Nihon Sama I'm sorry! I should've had more faith in you!"

"Enough." Song scolded. Volkova slapped the private to sit upright. "You three will not let this slip to the other Hetalians. Pte. Jones is right. It's not our business; keep it to harmless fun and games, but let's not make a spectacle over the Nations' relationships. They deserve their privacy. Understand?"

"Yes sir." The dragons saluted in compliance.

"Yeah, these things tend to piss off the captains when they go too far," Takehiko said under her breath, "but you know what pisses them off even more?"

"What?" Amelia asked.

"Pulling a 'Steward Joy Ride'."

"I heard that, Private." Song called, finishing his mug of coffee.

Amelia heard about this back at Atlas too, and it was one of Mr. Germany's least favourite security codes a Spartan could call. It all started more than ten years ago by a couple Spartans who stole Mr. Germany's car and drove it around downtown Berlin until finally crashing into Mr. England and Mr. Wales' rental. The Atlas agents had their own game, taking dirty shots of whatever alcohol they could find whenever they heard that a security detail was doing such a thing. Especially at the American branch she worked in. Uncle Alfred would pop a few fire crackers to celebrate a new recruit finally making up to the big leagues. Amelia could boast to developing a high tolerance for mixed shots given how often it happened.

"It's like an initiation ceremony sir! She's got to do it." Takehiko smirked.

"No she doesn't. None of you have done it." Song countered.

"Because you'd never let us."

"With good reason. The International Branch are the only groups of from SPARTN Mr. Germany trusts with his car."

"Yeah, all you captains already had your fun. Weren't you in the car with Agent Steward when he first took Mr. Germany's car for a spin?" Volkova smirked.

"Really sir?" Messer gasped, "You knew the legendary Agent Steward?"

"He was far from legendary." Song pointed at Pte. Messer, "And that's irrelevant." Song pointed at Takehiko, shaking his head, "there must be something else we could do for some 'initiation'," he said as he made air quotes to emphasise his fined enthusiasm. "We'll go to a karaoke bar later or, I know, there should be some cinnamon in the kitchen here."

"So what ever happened to agent Steward, sir?" Amelia called, remembering how tight knit her cousin and the old team was. Capt. Song nearly dropped the jar of cinnamon.

"He was expelled. He was delusional and insane. Then he got sick and he died. But that's beside the point. I'm not letting any of you take Mr. Germany's car." His rant was cut short by his pager going off.

Apparently, a Minister of Magic had just arrived and only wanted the best of the best to escort him safely from the safe house where he'd apparated from to the meeting place. He and Cmdr. Waverly would have to take this one. "I'll have to get this. Stay here. Don't do anything stupid." He instructed the team, and they saluted as he left the room.

"So how long you think he'll be gone?" Takehiko asked.

"I'd give it a quarter an hour at most. That Minister would have to walk. We can't have all those wizards apparating into the building. Everyone else would think there's fireworks going off." Messer said.

"Great, Pte. Luciano, take Pte. Jones to the parking lot. We'll cover for you if he gets back sooner." Volkova instructed, something of an evil smirk spread across her face.

"Andiamo presto! I know where Mr. Germany parked his car! Then we can go into town and get some sweets!" the energetic private said as he grabbed Amelia by the arm and they headed out the door.

"Okay privates, just this once, play along and follow my lead." Volkova said as took a glance at her watch. With a push of a button, the digital display turned into something akin to an analogue display, save for the fact that words like 'meeting place', 'headquarters', 'transit' and 'mortal danger' lined the edge of the watch face instead of numbers.

One arm marked MB hung around 'headquarters' while a lone arm marked AS was perpetually stuck at 'mortal danger' and yet another marked HS weirdly hovered around 'school' as opposed to its usual position at 'lost'. But no matter, what Lieut. Volkova really cared about was a pair of thin arms labelled XS and WW. The pair separated themselves from a group of others huddled at 'the meeting place' and started to move towards 'transit'. "Okay, the boss is out," she exclaimed, and headed to the kitchenette.

She started to fish around the cabinets for an empty bottle for her plan. The best she could do was a nearly empty bottle of beer in the fridge. "Yeah, this is cheap," she said after having a little taste before dumping the rest down the sink.

"Come over here team, set some bills on the table," she motioned the others to the couches and sat herself in a love seat. The two privates fished some random currencies from their pockets and set them on the table. Volkova then set the bottle on a low coffee table on its side and spun it around. Glancing at her watch, she watched the thin arms approach 'the meeting place' again. "Just act natural you two."

As the pair of arms clicked into place again, their esteemed captain returned.

"Alright team, the Nordic countries and their bosses have arrived," Capt. Song called once he walked through the door, prompting the rest of the team to stand at attention. "Come on, I'll need everyone on this—" He looked at his team and then spotted the bills on the table. He surveyed the trio with disappointment, "Where is Pte. Laguardia and Pte. Jones?"

At this, Lieut. Volkova pointed to the closed door of a coat closet at the other side of the room. "Don't bother them. We played spin the bottle for her 'initiation ceremony'." She explained with nonchalance. "I'm actually kind of worried for our Lucky Luciano..."

Song groaned and brought both hands up to his face, and slowly dragged his eyelids down. It was much too early to break up an awkward and forced make-out session that shouldn't be happening in the first place. "Well, just go and do your jobs. I'll deal with them." He waved the team out the door.

The team cleared out to start their day. Song walked over to the closet, and rapped on the door a few times and called, "Laguardia, Jones, come on out, you don't have to do this."

He scoffed at the beer bottle on the coffee table, then snatched up the scattered bills and counted the change. He retrieved the jar of cinnamon he got earlier and found a spoon. He called again, "Okay, Amelia, I have a deal for you. I have," he counted the bills, a couple thousand yen, twenty Euro, some Swedish Krona and a single Hong Kong dollar, "I have about 50 USD here, and it's all yours if you can swallow this tablespoon of cinnamon." He said loudly into the empty room, "Come on. It'll be fun." As he tapped the kitchenette counter and kept time with his wristwatch he noticed its ticking was the only sound in the room. It was much too quiet.

"Come on you two, get out of there." He opened the closet door to a couple of fall coats, winter boots and a box of hats and gloves, but no sign of his second lieutenant and the new private.

"Oh son of a-"

ooo

"It's over here!" Laguardia called over to Amelia as they ran across the parking garage. The blue Volkswagen sat innocently in its spot, a small German flag and a yellow Gilbird plushie hung from the rear-view mirror, just waiting to be taken. "Do you have any idea how you're going to break in?" Laguardia asked.

"Well, I've got my wand, so it should be easy enough." Amelia said, taking her wand from her belt, a light wave of energy coursed through her arm into her blackthorn wand.

"What's your blood purity?" the private asked out of the blue.

"I've never really given it much thought. We never found my birth parents so I'm probably a muggleborn or a half-blood." Amelia shrugged, it didn't really matter to her. Most of the wizards in Hetalia were muggleborn or half-bloods anyway, and the few purebloods among their ranks couldn't care less about blood purity. "Why do you ask, Laguardia?"

"Just wondering. Lieut. Volkova is a pureblood, and Pte. Messer is a half-blood. It was quite a fancy shock when his father found out his wife was a witch." He said absentmindedly, like he was reading off a grocery list instead of talking about his team mates, "I suppose it isn't important anyway. Let's get on with the show."

With a chant of "Alohomora," Amelia all too easily unlocked the door, shifted into the driver's seat, pried open a panel under the dash and picked at some wires. A spark went off and the car came to life.

"Well, are you coming along, Laguardia?" Amelia asked.

The Italian scooted into the passenger seat and adjusted the side mirror and smiled at himself, "Are you sure you can do this?" he challenged.

Amelia's only thought was, if she does this, she's really in the big leagues. Uncle Alfred will be setting off fireworks at Broadway tonight. She kicks the car into drive.

"Yes. I can do it."

* * *

"Yo! Iggy!" America called as he saw England and France down the hall on their way to the meeting room. If anyone else saw the young man in a bomber jacket and jeans yelling across the hall of a presumably formal and serious conference centre, it would have seemed somewhat out of place. But for Capt. Waverly and the guard who trailed behind the blond nation, it was all par for the course.

"How many times have I told you not to call me that?" England called right back as he walked down the hall towards America.

"Dude, like, every time I call you 'Iggy', Iggy." America smiled, earning dissatisfied groan from England. "Sup France!" America nearly yelled, even though France was probably only a foot away.

"Bonjour, Amérique," France returned the greeting calmly. After more than a hundred years, he was used to America's way of greeting, as opposed to the guards, who clapped their hands tight on their ears from his sudden outburst. It still took a little getting used to. Even Capt. Waverly cringed. With a small wave, France dismissed the humans to wait for them inside the conference room. Only Capt. Waverly remained. She leaned on the wall and kept an eye out for any other nations as America, France and England had a casual chat.

"But hey, England, I just wanted to ask you about something." America started again.

"Fine, what is it?"

"If I sent a letter Harry last night, when do you think he'd get it?" America asked, remembering he stayed up late the previous night to find out what House Harry got in. He figured the time difference would buy him a little leeway.

"Well, if you used a magical animal, like an owl from your magical community, I think he would get it either later today or tomorrow morning. Those things are enchanted and bred to be a bit faster than your usual bird of prey." England explained.

"Aw, but then, what if I sent Liberty to bring him the letter?

"Your eagle? That Liberty?" England thought of the wild bird America kept. It seemed that along with an extended lifespan, the humans and animals the nations were close to or kept as company shared a bit of their strength as well. In Liberty's case, the loyal bird possessed unnaturally high speeds. "Well then, Harry probably got your letter already." England said with a small smile, he just noticed that America's smile grew ever wider, nearly splitting his face across. His lips pulled back the slightest bit to reveal his pearly whites, and his cheeks turned red as he tried to hold in laughter. "What's so funny, America? Why are you laughing?"

America couldn't keep it in for much longer, and doubled over to slap his knees, releasing a few giggles as his large frame soon with mirth.

"America." England and France called.

"Oh, sorry dudes," America straightened himself and backed away from England slowly, wiping cheerful tears from his eyes, "I just can't stop imagining Harry's face-"

"Watch where you're going, eh." Canada huffed, pushing America off his foot.

"Oh, Canada Bro, didn't see you there." America greeted, followed by England and France with their own 'hellos'.

"So what are you all talking aboot?" Canada asked.

"L'Amérique was just asking about a letter he sent Harry," France started.

"And now, he won't stop bloody laughing." England said.

"Why? What's so funny aboot that letter we sent? We wrote him one together, unless, oh maple." Canada's eyes widened as realisation and shock crossed his face. "You didn't actually send it did you?!"

"Of course I did Bro!" America said proudly.

"What did you send?" England demanded.

"Oh calm down Iggy, it's nothing too bad."

"You were laughing so hard you almost bloody keeled over!"

"Merde, you really did send it. I told you not to!" Canada scolded.

"Dude, Canadia, when you took me out to buy wizard stationary, you should have known I couldn't pass up that kind of opportunity." America said with a shrug and an innocent look on his face.

"L'Amérique, what did you do?!" France asked, nearly as hysteric as England.

"It's a surprise." He laughed in response, giving Canada a look that pleaded, 'please don't tell them'.

"He sent a Howler." Canada told them.

Without a moment of hesitation, England gave chase, and America made a break for it.

"AMERICA!"

"WHY ARE YOU CHASING ME?!"

"BECAUSE YOU ARE RUNNING AWAY!"

"L'Angleterre!"

"America!"

"Come back you two!" Capt. Waverly called, "damn, it's too early in the morning sirs!" she called as she followed the pair down the hall and around a corner.

"Mon dieu, Allemagne will be furious. The meeting's starting soon." France sighed, just imagining the kind of lecture they'll get from the stern nation this time.

Speak of the devil, Germany burst through the door, the metal arm at the top just barely holding it back from banging against the walls. He dashed past France and Canada, towards the elevators yelling, "MIEN CAR!"

The two body guards peeked out from the opened space left behind in Germany's wake.

"Did you hear that?" America's body guard called from behind the door, "A Code 8-19 B, someone's doing the Steward Challenge!"

* * *

"Those don't look like our people..." Laguardia told Amelia, twisting to look out the rear window of Mr. Germany's car at the flashing red and blue lights quickly approaching them. "Someone must've ratted us." He stated over the ringing of sirens in their ears.

"Is this how this stuff usually works out?" Amelia asked as she swerved out of the way of another car that was going much too slow for her tastes.

"Surprisingly no." Laguardia said. He settled into his seat again, and grabbed onto the assist handle as Amelia took another hard turn to avoid the pursuing police vehicles. "Everyone else is pretty pathetic. Hardly get a block away before Mr. Norway or Mr. Romano cracks down on then. But wow, what you did back there, mama mia I've never heard of someone doing that before! Driving donuts around Mr. Switzerland! He looked pretty pissed."

"He took a couple shots at us didn't he?" Amelia winced at the memory. It was a spur of the moment decision, but did it have dire consequences attached. Her knuckles whitened on the steering wheel as she turned again, barely avoiding scratching up Mr. Germany's paint job on a mail box as she sped past.

"Sí, a civilian must've reported that," Laguardia guessed, adjusting the rear view mirror so he could see behind them, "I mean look at all those cops! You should lose them soon." He teased.

"I'm thinking of something. I'm thinking." She hissed.

She grabbed her wand from her belt and felt her magic energy gathering for the spell she had in mind.

"How badly do you think Mr. Beilschmidt will court martial me if I toss this plushie out?" she asked.

"Ve, not sure if it'll get all the way to a court martial, but he loves that thing." Laguardia said, eyes widening as he thought of what his new teammate could possibly think of doing to Mr. Beilschmidt's prized toy.

"Well here goes nothing. Take the wheel." Amelia said as she tore the plushie from the rear view mirror and began circling her wand around the small yellow bird. Laguardia reached over to the wheel and continued to haphazardly veer out of the traffic and away from the polizei.

"You better know what the hell you're doing Jones!" Laguardia scolded over the sirens ringing in their ears.

"I hope so too, Laguardia," she said, finishing her spell. The plushie now glowed with a softly pulsating light. She took the wheel back from the private and handed him the Gilbird instead. "Here, hold this. Throw it at them when I tell you." She instructed, wondering at the back of her mind if she was breaking chain of command.

She then started to wave her wand and continued chanting a spell under her breath. A creeping energy began filling the car, crawling around the two of them and eventually enveloping the whole interior in its cold magic. Laguardia looked down at his own hands to see them slowly fade away, Amelia too was growing more and more transparent as her spell went on, and even the car dissolved until he saw straight to the pavement. Even the Gilbird seemed to disappear, leaving nothing but its soft glow in its place.

"Okay, now." Amelia gave the word, and Laguardia tossed the plushie out the window into the path of their pursuers. "Obliviate." She cast, and a pulse of magic emanated from the bird plushie, effectively erasing the memories of those that passed it.

Now that they were invisible, and the police no longer aware of what they were pursuing in the first place, Amelia could truly escape. She pulled into a wide alley to wait out the rest of the storm until the police finally returned to pursuing other matters.

They both craned their necks to look out the rear window and watched as the last police cruisers passed and the sirens died down.

"Alright, I think we lost them." Amelia smiled at the private. As the turned back to the front to drive out of the alley, they were stopped stone cold at who was there, blocking their way.

Mr. Norway was staring at them, his signature cold, stoic expression cutting through Amelia's invisibility enchantment, straight into Amelia. There honestly wasn't any hiding from the Norwegian wizard. His floating hair curl lagged behind his head as he slowly shook it, as if to say "you're not going anywhere."

With a single word neither of them knew, but recognised as troll, said creature appeared. Everyone at Hetalia knew to an extent that Norway's trolls were much larger than any average mountain troll. But having one mere feet away from her snapped Amelia into a perspective at just how mighty and strangely noble the creature was; until it grabbed Amelia out of the car, easily dwarfing her within its hand. With her enchantment broken, and Amelia herself too shocked to retaliate, the giant troll brought her up to his face with ease.

Its wild beard lightly brushed against her as it opened its mouth to speak, its voice deep and rough, "Amelia F. Jones."

She was caught red handed.


	10. 1-5: Old Soldiers, New Blood

Wales and Scotland were making their way into the a conference room for an Atlas meeting when someone grabbed Wales shoulder. She wore her dark hair in a tight bun and carried a large briefcase that matched her dark suit. Upon her breast pocket was a small badge that bore the Atlas logo, and a small metal check that resembled the red chevrons of Spartan agents. The grey face of her wristwatch peeked out from her sleeve.

"Mr. Wales," the woman called in a thick French accent, she was slightly out of breath but regained her resolve quickly. She was Detective Bordeaux, lead detective in the International Branch of Atlas. Atlas, like Spartan, was one of the main divisions under Hetalia. The Anthropomorphised Territories Logistics and Assistance Services was mostly made up of personal assistants or secretaries for the Nations, but they had an espionage sector as well.

"Mr. Wales, before you go in, I have to warn you, Mr. Romano may have found out about our little deception." Her dark cheeks flushed red as she fished something out of her briefcase and held up an Italian Wizarding newspaper. On the front, the face of a blond witch with large rimmed glasses and twisted lips sneered at them over an old copy of the British Wizarding newspaper, the Daily Prophet.

Wales recognised the building she stood in front of, the Gringotts bank in Diagon Alley. He glared back at the woman on the newspaper and read the headline above her. 'Atlas covers up the Gringotts Break-In' the headline blared in Italian. Scotland took one glance at the paper and nearly growled.

" _Rita Skeeter,"_ he cursed. "It's bad enough when she writes gossip in Britain, now she's selling her stories to other countries."

Scotland sighed. He was starting to get real tired of dealing with reporters and sensational journalists that Fudge had snubbed and left Scotland to manage the gossip. He skimmed his eyes over the Italian text. Rita Skeeter taunted him, claiming that while the news of a break in at Gringotts was quite a buzz in Britain, the sensation hadn't spread to other parts of Europe. All because Mr. Alistair Kirkland was hiding it from the rest of the Wizarding World. "Romano isn't going to like this..."

"No he isn't." Romano walked up behind them. The auburn eyes of the Head of Atlas International were completely void of their usual Tuscan warmth. A cold glint of gold sparked from the small pin on his left lapel. A chevron, much like the ones worn on the Atlas and Spartan uniforms.

"Good morning, Mr. Romano," Scotland greeted in feigned glee.

"Save it. All of you bastards, my hotel room, now." he sneered.

"Now?" Wales called, "We have an Atlas meeting in 10 minutes."

Romano smirked and held up a pager. The words '8-19 B n efct, mtng pstpn' scrolled by on the small screen. "One of the newest Spartans are carrying on the family tradition." he rolled his eyes. "We've got plenty of time. Someone get England too."

Within a few minutes, Wales, Scotland and Det. Bordeaux were standing outside Romano's hotel room in the Hetalia Frankfurt building. England approached the small group as well. "Who do we have to blame for this, this time?"

"Rita Skeeter," the others replied. England groaned.

"Mr. Romano is mad, isn't he," England sighed.

"You guessed it." Romano teased as he stepped out of his hotel room with a special key. He closed the door and stuck the key in the lock. With a twist, the tumblers were turned. He opened the door to reveal his hotel room was replaced with his office at the Hetalia Headquarters in Tuscany, Italy. "Inside, now."

He led the others into his office where he took a seat behind his desk. The was one seat in front of the desk, Scotland rested his arms on its backrest. Romano conjured two more chairs for Wales and England to sit in, but neither of the three brothers took the seats. Bordeaux stood by Wales in a parade rest, her briefcase held stiff behind her back.

"Well then, anyone care to explain what _this_ is?" Romano held up another copy of the Italian wizard newspaper Bordeaux had shown them earlier.

"That is commonly called a newspaper, its how people have been getting their daily news since its invention in 1605 in Belgium." England teased.

"I don't have time for your dull wit." He pointed at the news article. "So some wizard bastard tried to break into the British Branch of Gringotts, but it happened _months_ ago! Why didn't any of you tell me?"

Scotland shrugged his shoulders and sighed, "its way too early to get this rowdy, the situation is handled, there was no need to bring it to your attention."

"Why not?" Romano asked, perplexed. He knew Scotland was the representative of magical Britain, and Wales headed the British branch of Atlas. England's own son was the Boy Who Lived and the Irelands knew their way around the wizarding undergrounds as well. They were usually on top of all this and probably knew more about the wizarding world than their own Minister of Magic (which actually wasn't that hard). Even Bordeaux, human as she was, would have an invested reason to resolve this problem as soon as possible; she was part of Hetalia's special operative team to combat he Death Eater threat.

If they didn't feel there was an immediate need to act, there must have been a reason. "What was stolen?"

"Nothing." Scotland replied.

"Fine, let me rephrase that: Which vault was targeted?" Romano hissed.

The Kirkland Brothers shifted in their spots, those stiff upper lips would not give up their information so easily.

"Detective." Romano ordered her to answer.

"It was vault Seven-hundred and Thirteen." She surrendered.

Anger clouded over Romano's eyes, the special package that Hetalia and that old wizard Dumbledore were collaborating to protect was in that vault. If someone was trying to steal it, that didn't mean anything good.

"And none of you felt compelled to share this important situation with me?" Romano nearly shouted.

Wales sighed and stretched his arms above his head. "The situation is under control. That's all I have to report." He said sternly. "The Stone is still perfectly safe in Hogwarts." He said, in hope to end the conversation quickly.

Romano studied Wales' stubborn face. The Head of the incredibly small, British Atlas branch could have been mistaken as England's twin, except Wales' hair was a few shades darker, like sand or brown sugar. Like his brother, he preferred to do things his own way. Scotland wore the same cold expression as his other brothers. He used to head the British Spartan branch but has since been reduced to a near redundant desk job at the Minister's side. He represented Magical Britain, but in recent years, the position seemed to be in name only. England, of course, often represented the United Kingdom when the occasion arose and had a comfy(albeit, invisible) seat between the Queen and the Prime Minister in Muggle matters. All three of them were already pushed around by their idiotic and incompetent Boss, Cornelius Fudge; their hardened green eyes said they didn't want to deal with Romano or Hetalia today either.

"That answer isn't good enough." Romano scolded.

"Why not?" Scotland said, "We're already working with Dumbledore to keep it safe. With what we've done to protect it in Hogwarts, no one is going to even get near the Stone."

"But some sorry bastard tried." Romano countered. "If breaking into Gringotts didn't scare the shit out of this lowlife ingrate, no way an old man and an even older mirror will deter the fucker."

Something flared inside Scotland, Romano insulted his mother's mirror like it was a useless trinket. But Romano held up his finger to indicate he had more to say.

"Look at this," he pointed to the papers, "there _is_ something to report, or we wouldn't have this insufferable waste of ink and parchment," he said, holding up Skeeter's article, "this whole thing was supposed to be a secret operation. But someone from outside knows about the Stone."

England's eyes flicked from the newspapers back to Romano, he didn't like where this was going. Scotland felt him shift slightly beside him.

"If some asshole tried to steal the Stone that day, they'd likely try again. The damn thing grants its owner immortality. And who in recent history do we know was interested in that sort of thing?"

"You can't honestly believe those rumours." England spat.

A spark flared in Romano's eyes as the corner of his lips turned up in a sly grin. Finally, one of them took the bait. "Don't you remember how far that jerk bastard went to try and cheat death?" Romano rose from his seat.

"You don't have to remind me!" England yelled and stood to match Romano's eyes.

"Then I shouldn't have to remind you how much that snake bastard tore Europe and Asia apart." Romano breathed, all the while, Scotland remained silent. He was reluctant to jump on the train of thought England and Romano had followed, rubbing at his arm absent mindedly. "You guys might enjoy stabbing each other in the back, but if my fratello gets hurt again, it's on you." Romano warned.

" _Low blow_ , _Mr. Romano_." Wales breathed.

England sat back down in a huff, tapping his fingers on Romano's desk impatiently. "What do you suggest we should do, then?"

Romano leaned back in his chair, "The only people who were supposed to know the Stone was moving— other than us— is Nicolas Flamel and the Minister, some trusted goblins, and that bastard Dumbledore and his coworkers. Somewhere in that circle of trust, the information leaked, or someone is working against us."

"You want to put an Atlas spy in the Ministry and at Hogwarts?" Wales suggested.

"I want extra security around that Stone," Romano clarified.

Scotland nodded, making a mental note to pass on to Dumbledore, if one great wizard trap wasn't enough to satisfy Romano, maybe five or six more would do the trick. "I'll let Dumbledore and the Minister know, Romano. Have a bloody good day." He said, and he got up to leave.

"No. I want Hetalia on the job." Romano prepared himself for what he'd say next, "and if there's going to be a fight, I'd want a couple Spartans on the job too."

"You know why we can't do that," Scotland said. Romano locked eyes with Scotland and crossed his arms, unimpressed.

"Enlighten me, bastard."

"You know we're not allowed to have Spartans on the British Isles anymore, not after what we'd done." Scotland explained, "Not unless we hold a World Meeting there, or there's a national emergency. Fudge doesn't think there's any problem. He'll never allow it."

"Well tell your Minister I think he's an idiot. _I_ think there's a problem, and it could escalate to an _international_ emergency."

"We know he's an idiot, and he'll think this is a breach of trust. He'll think we're trying to re-establish _our own personal armies_." Scotland said, and waved his arms to gesture at himself and his brothers. "If he thinks we're a threat, he could reduce our power over wizarding Britain even further if he so wanted."

"That would be awful." Romano quipped.

"That's not the only problem," England spoke up. "Spartan and Atlas are known in the wizarding world, if we send agents to Hogwarts, that could bring Hogwarts to the attention of whoever's trying to steal the Stone. Sending Spartans to Britain won't just be a red flag for Fudge, it could put a target on Hogwarts." England said. He opened his mouth as if to continue; his brothers knew he was concerned about Harry's safety too, but he wouldn't allow his human life cross over into this world.

But Romano knew what England wanted to say, "It's nice to see you concerned for your son's well being for once. Do you know what would guarantee he is not put in harms' way? _Catching whatever bastard is trying to get the Stone_!"

England's fists clenched in his pockets.

"Our hands are tied, Romano." Wales tried to reason, "The most we can do is have the Hogwarts teachers put up more spells and traps to guard the Stone, maybe we can get Det. Bordeaux and Cmdr. Waverly special permissions to spend more time on the Isles, but we can't have Spartans on British soil anymore."

A smile crept onto Romano's face as he shrugged his shoulders, he had a simple solution to the brothers' plight. "Then we'll send a Spartan in secretly."

"That _definitely_ won't be bloody breach of trust!" Scotland cried in dismay.

"Wait, sirs, I believe there's a small loophole in former Minister Bagnold's decree that we can exploit." Bordeaux said cheerfully, "Essentially, it says that, outside of Nation Meetings or a national emergency, no Spartans or Atlas agents besides me and Cmdr. Waverly are allowed on British or Irish soil. It seems airtight, doesn't it?"

The Kirkland brothers nodded.

"So if we decide to go forward with this motion, we'll send in Captain Song's team." Bordeaux said.

"That's even worse." Wales said, "If the Minster won't let a Spartan on British soil, there's no way he'll let a Lionheart on there, much less a team of them. Headed by the former members of the Witch Hunt Project? If they get caught we're bloody done for sure. We can't send _them._ "

"Why not, sir?" Bordeaux asked, "They're trained to deal with magical threats, and they're not really considered true Spartans, it would be perfectly legal. The whole team is experimental, yes, and we just put them under the control of the International Branch so Commander Waverly could keep an eye on them. To the Ministers of Magic they may be liabilities, but for us right now, they're our greatest assets."

"The Ministers of Magic think they're a liability because most of that team is made up of Lionhearts." Wales said, "Fudge may be ignorant of the Muggle World and the true scope of what we do here, but he sure as bloody hell knows even the mere existence of Lionhearts is barely legal. They're humans with the powers of a Nation—a Nation that Fudge couldn't control if he wanted."

"Technically, sir, it's only the first generation Lionhearts that possess Nation-like powers. The whole team is practically human by now." Bordeaux reasoned, the creation of Lionhearts became illegal after the First World War, but Wales still seemed unconvinced.

"No, this could actually work." England said. "Not the whole team, just Pte. Jones. She's family. She's not a Lionheart. If she gets caught, she could just say she was visiting one of us."

Wales and Scotland's eyes lit up. If someone really was trying to steal the Philosopher's Stone, they had to find out who, and why. This was the only way that was remotely legal and gave them full control, without Fudge creeping over their shoulder all the time.

"That sounds wonderful," Romano said, for once, pleased. "We'll only send Pte. Jones active in the field." He pointed out. "Send her to Hogwarts as a reserve. While Det. Bordeaux investigates the Ministry." He got up from his seat and picked a dossier from one of his shelves. He opened it to reveal Capt. Song's team and flipped it to Jones' page.

"Any idea how we're going to get Jones in there?" Wales asked.

"The issue of getting her inside Hogwarts may be another problem. Our window may have just closed, the year has already started. Getting her on the staff may prove a challenge." England sighed.

"We'll think of something," Scotland said confidently, flipping through Jones' file. He saw Amelia's smiling face at him in the corner of the page and remembered they'd have to congratulate her on finally graduating and making a team. He was interupted in his thoughts by Bordeaux's pager loudly sounding off.

Bordeaux fished the pager from her pocket and read the message as it scrolled across the screen. She relayed to the others that the meeting would finally start in less than ten minutes. Mr. Norway had caught the troublesome Spartan.

"Let's hope our golden girl survives the week." She said dully, she turned the pager out so the Kirkland brothers could see the text as it scrolled past on the screen.

'pt. Jones et Pt. Laguardia safe aprhnd'

Romano hid a laugh behind his hands. "What a great start to her career," he teased.

* * *

With the meetings done for the week and some of the Nations and their Bosses already sent on their way home, it was another job well done. Even most of the Atlas and Spartan agents had retired for the night, except for SPARTN's fearless leader, Commandant Waverly.

It was past midnight, and the middle aged wizard had retreated into a quiet and empty bar in a nearby hotel, and was nursing a cool beer.

"Long week, huh Will?" Someone tapped him on the shoulder and took the stool beside him.

"Not as long as yours, I heard." Waverly teased, his speech slightly slurred. "Got that report for me done?" He asked.

Capt. Song nodded tiredly and checked to see what beers they had on tap. He asked the bartender for a pint of Heineken and rested his head on the counter. The thick varnish stuck to his cheek and was peeling in some places along the counter, but he was too tired to care. The bartender placed Song's glass of beer in front of his face, engulfing Waverly in an amber glow.

"It should be in your inbox by tomorrow." Song groaned, he was so embarrassed he had to fill out one of those dreaded forms that basically said 'I didn't keep an eye on my monkeys well enough and they went and stole Mr. Germany's car'. He sat up to take a sip of his beer, groaned, and set his head back down again.

Waverly smiled and pat his friend on the shoulder.

"So Xiaolong, how did you enjoy your first week as a real Captain?"

"I miss working as Veronica's Lieutenant." Xiaolong pouted, taking another sip of his beer.

Waverly couldn't help but laugh, Song and his wife had worked on the same team for a couple years, and now he was working on his own as a new Captain. Waverly took a generous swig from his own bottle and joked, "What, you don't like the Dragons?"

"No, no, they're fine. The Lionhearts, Messer and Takehiko and Laguardia, they're fine. They actually work quite well together and they're so much more manageable than I first thought they would be, actually." Song said. The Commander's eyebrows shot up in surprise. This was great, everyone else in Hetalia was worried the experimental team would end in disaster.

"And what about Lieutenant Volkova and Private Jones?" Waverly asked.

Song let his head fall to the counter again.

"Ha! After you fought tooth and nail to get them on your team?"

Song gave the Commander a smirk and took another sip. He thought they would be great additions to the team. When he was assigned the three Lionhearts for this experimental team and had to choose a couple other agents to assist him, he thought of Valkyrie and Amelia. Both Valkyrie and Amelia had prior experience with SPARTN, and had worked alongside Lionhearts whether it was official work or not. And he'd worked with the two of them before. Professionally, they were an optimal choice. So when he heard Valkyrie's membership to SPARTN was reinstated, and Amelia had finally finished her official training, he jumped at the chance to get them on his team.

Though personally, he just liked the sense of nostalgia, familiarity and belonging they could offer. But then again, "They're the reason I'm in this mess," the Captain sighed, "What if the Spartan Heads decide they'd rather not risk having a team of Lionhearts again? Mr. Lovino's already threatened me with demotion."

"I haven't heard anything like that yet." Waverly said to try and encourage his friend.

"I guess that's hopeful. If you hadn't heard anything, the decision is probably still pending."

"It could be just an empty threat. But I can put a word in to Mr. Lovino, he should at least give you guys another chance." Waverly said, "It's only been a couple weeks honestly, they can't suspend you right away."

"Da, that's right, we can't have the team disbanded so soon."

Russia had come up behind them and greeted them with his arms wrapped tightly around the two men. Both of them were quite flustered at the Nation's sudden appearance.

"Mr. Russ—Mr. Braginski," Waverly caught himself and switched to Russia's human name in case the bartender overheard. "I didn't hear you come in, I didn't know you were still up." he stammered.

"Ha, Mr. Braginski, I thought you were already escorted to your hotel room." Song laughed nervously. "Your flight home leaves early tomorrow, Sir."

Russia's childlike smile was quickly dashed and replaced by a long and drooping pout, as if he didn't hear the men's concerns at all.

"I thought we were friends," Russia said with slight tint of disappointment in his voice, "I told you, you can call me Ivan, da?"

With strained smiles, the two men nodded and invited 'Ivan' to sit with them. Russia nearly shoved Waverly off his stool when he took it. Russia settled himself happily between the Captain and Commandant, and ordered a vodka for himself. He turned to Song and asked.

"The team will not be disbanded will it? After all my Boss invested a lot into it, and Valka loves working in SPARTN again!" Russia exclaimed with gleeful delight.

"Well if I don't clean up my act and get the team under control, there's no telling how long it'll last." Song sighed, "And I was just getting used to this job."

Song downed the rest of his drink and rested his head in his arms. He suddenly felt sick of the thought that he'd have to work in Atlas again.

He didn't mean any offence to Det. Bordeaux and her father, but working under them in Atlas was a far cry from what he grew up with and what he expected Hetalia really was. But he supposed he'd take an administrative job over—well nothing else really. He had nothing left for him back in Macau; and if he did leave Hetalia, it wouldn't leave him. He'd be put under close and careful surveillance. Song knew about the Nations, and he most certainly was not supposed to. He was simply thrown into the world of magic and nations when the world was thrown into chaos. Same as Bordeaux and Jones really, dragged into all this insanity by a world at war.

But for some twisted reason, that's why he loved working in SPARTN with the Waverly's: it was just something he had grown accustomed to, and quite frankly, enjoyed. Not that he wished for all the worst emergencies that would need the attention of a SPARTN team, but it was his job and he wanted to do it the best he could.

And he didn't want to let his team down. If things were to fall apart now, the Lionhearts on his team would have to be sent back to their home countries and put on a tight leash, again. He knew he had to get his head in the game and stay strong for the sake of his team, but for some reason, he was just scared. And that's why he was there, waiting in an empty bar and hiding from his boss and the bad news that could potentially bring his world come crashing down again.

Russia pat him gently on the shoulder. "Do not worry, comrade. I will not let Mr. Lovino dismantle the team." Russia said with a friendly smile on his face, shining with pure confidence that actually helped Song lift his spirits. "My Boss is still interested in what they can do, and I told you, Valka enjoys it."

Song felt as if the temperature in the room had dropped ten degrees. Of course, Russia was still smiling like a child, those violet eyes bored into Song. He could never get used to the unnerving way Russia spoke and could turn like a dime; with a kind of innocence that belonged to child, but tinged with the sense of a vicious nature most Nations have learned to hide by now. "You will work to ensure the team remains operational, da? Because Valka is happy working with you again, and I always want my friends to be happy. Don't you?"

"Yes, yes of course Mr. Br—of course Ivan, I'd love to make Valka happy." Song said, he tried to sound confident but he was a bit tense from that unwavering smile Russia kept up this whole time. Russia closed his eyes and cocked his head to the side, pleased at Song's answer.

"That's what I like to hear!" He exclaimed. Then, Russia turned to face Waverly, "Call Mr. Lovino and Det. Bordeaux right now." He ordered.

Waverly was much less affected by the frightening atmosphere that surrounded Russia. He almost looked a little confused at first, but then dutifully complied.

"Of course, Ivan. Right away, Ivan." He stumbled off of his stool and knocked over his cane. He grabbed onto Song's arm for support and dug his phone out of his pocket. He punched in the number for Det. Bordeaux. It rang a few times before she answered.

"Bonjour?" She asked as she walked into the bar. She pulled her cell phone away from her ear, snapped it closed and placed it back into her purse. "Every time we're in Germany you're here."

"Well this _is_ the last bar in Frankfurt that Mr. Jones and Mr. Braginski hadn't been banned from. So what's you and your standing bitch face doing here?" Waverly asked much too loudly.

She merely scoffed, by now she quite used to the antics and mannerisms he displayed when they weren't watched by official world leaders. This was fairly tame. "I need to speak with Captain Song. Orders from on high." She tapped her Atlas pin with two fingers.

Bordeaux and Song met eyes, and nodded.

Bordeaux stooped to pick up Waverly's cane while Song helped him limp over to the newcomer. When Waverly reached out to grab it, she pulled it out of his reach.

"Don't tell me you're drunk already," Bordeaux accused.

"I'm just a bit tipsy. You can't really judge me for stumbling, I'm a cripple!" Waverly scolded.

Bordeaux gave a hearty laugh and shot a sharp smirk at him, they both knew he liked to flaunt his battle scars, but he was far from helpless. "Honestly how many have you had?"

"Five!" He said quickly. "I am not a lightweight."

"Bartender?" Bordeaux asked.

"One." He called. Song brought his palm quickly to his face.

Bordeaux handed Waverly's cane to him and leaned into his ear, "Your 'Kirkland' is showing," she teased.

Waverly scoffed and limped back to the bar. She glanced at Waverly's abandoned drink and Mr. Russia sitting at the bar, smiling blissfully at his 'friends'. She nodded her head in the direction of a booth nearby, out of earshot of the bartender and led Song to it.

The red vinyl backing of the booth squeaked and groaned as Song scooted into it. Bordeaux gracefully took the seat opposite him and set an official looking dossier on the table.

"I'll just cut to the chase, I have a mission for your team . The security of the Philosopher's Stone may have been compromised." She said, quick and stern. "I need Pte. Jones for a special reconnaissance operation." Bordeaux said. Song flipped through the dossier and skimmed the pages. Bordeaux had shown him this dossier a couple weeks before, but it looked amended to include Private Jones' and Takehiko's new files. The numerous situations it once held was reduced to a single docket: the chosen situation to execute the objective. He'd helped her come up with a few of the situations himself, but he'd never think any of it would actually been green lighted, considering his current status.

"A mission from ATLAS?" Song asked.

Bordeaux nodded in confirmation.

"Am I getting demoted?" He asked sheepishly. Bordeaux gave him sideways look, and he suddenly felt embarrassed he'd be so concerned about going back to Atlas, like child.

"No," Bordeaux said softly, dropping her strict business like tone for but a second. "It's actually imperative that you maintain your status as a Spartan Captain and continue your regular duties. It'll build your agent's cover."

Song flipped passed the agents' personnel files to the mission procedure. Volkova, and the three Lionhearts would be put on reserve should action be taken to protect the Stone. Meanwhile, the bulk of the mission would be executed Jones, performing reconnaissance at Hogwarts.

"Pte. Jones be alone?"

"You can't take Amelia off the team!" A cherry faced Waverly interupted, as he leaned over the low wall of the booth. He gripped a new bottle of beer in his hand and the smell of it tinged his breath. "I was just getting used to having so many loyal underlings to order around."

Bordeaux reached up and shoved Waverly away, "go home already Will, you're drunk!"

"I'm just a bit tipsy," he pushed back against her hand. "Besides, our plane home doesn't leave until tomorrow afternoon." He said slowly, careful not to slur his words.

"Just leave." She pushed back again.

Waverly licked Bordeaux's palm.

She gasped and recoiled.

"You're such a child!" She reprimanded.

"At least I don't have a stick up my ass." He shot back.

"Ah, I hate it when mommy and daddy fight!" Song interjected in a mock whine. "What do you need, Will?"

Will leaned over the booth's half wall. He grunted as he reached for the dossier. Bordeaux pushed it out of his reach, just to tease him.

"Just walk around the damn wall, Will." Song grabbed it and handed it to Waverly. Waverly smiled and said under his breath, "this is why you're my favourite." He stood up straight and limped around the wall to their booth, his cane tapped sharply on the tiled floors.

Bordeaux shot a toxic look at Song, her eyes practically screamed bloody murder. Waverly came around the booth and pushed Song deep into the seat, and sat down beside him.

Waverly opened the dossier and studied it, pulling it out of reach and close to his face when Bordeaux reached for it again.

"Oh, a special reconnaissance mission." He said, and blew a low whistle as his eyes stayed fixed on the first line of the page. Bordeaux could see his eyes weren't even moving, the words would swim around too much in his current state. But he continued and pat Song hard on the back, "Congrats buddy, you're not just some glorified hired gun for security anymore," He said in a joking tone.

Song waved Waverly's hand off and sighed.

"The mission is in Britain..." Waverly mused. "Maaaags" he whined the detective's nickname, "this is _illegal_ ," he pretended to wipe tears from his face, "if the British Minister catches wind of this, who knows what it could mean for SPARTN."

"That's why we need to keep it covert." She said through gritted teeth. "We need to keep this on a strictly need to know basis. We have to- _"_ she pursed her lips as she tried to read his expression. " _What, Will_?"

The commander wore a shit eating grin on his face, with his head resting on his palms and rosy cheeks from the alcohol, it could have looked like he would be flirting with the detective.

He cracked open his smug smile and laughed, "I knew you still had it in you, Mags I am so proud."

"Ha. Just go home already Will, before you leak all this." Bordeaux waved him off.

"Order me a taxi?"

"Oh you know, I'd really ought to get back to Tuscany." She said as she got up from her seat. She went over to the bartender and paid for Song and Waverly's drinks, then started to make her way out of the bar.

"Maaaaaags" Waverly called as she walked passed him without a second glance.

"I'll take you back to the hotel, we'll get a cab together. Just let me see if I have enough change..." Song said as he pulled Waverly back into an upright position. "Stop grovelling, you idiot! You're just as bad as Mr. Arthur Kirkland," He scolded, as he help Waverly limp to the door that Bordeaux held open.

"I can order a taxi for you two," Russia called from the bar. He set a few bills on the counter and ran to catch up to the three Hetalians. He smiled at Song and whispered coldly in his ear, "It's what friends do."

Both Waverly and Song turned to see Russia giving them his ominously childish smile. They forced their lips to form cheeky smiles that crinkled their eyes.

Bordeaux laughed and blew them a kiss for good luck.

"You'd better rest up you two, and get over that hangover quick, Will. Mission briefing at the French headquarters tomorrow. Oh-eight hundred hours generous enough for you? And make sure Private Jones makes it."

"Jones should be bailed out soon. I'm sure Mr. America would have time to pick out Harry's special package and bring Jones to the briefing tomorrow morning." Song explained.

He huddled closer to Waverly's body when the cool night air hit him. Bordeaux too, reflexively rubbed at her arms. Russia stood behind them, unaffected. He cut a cold and intimidating figure as he tried to hail a cab.

"I haven't seen the whole report yet, what exactly did she do?" Bordeaux mused, "After messing around with Mr. Switzerland, she ran into Mr. Norway, what next?"

Waverly finally fell asleep in Song's arms, the dead weight of the man brought the young captain to the ground.

Song groaned at how much trouble these damn American wizards cause him.

* * *

But then I saw another troll had grabbed Pte. Laguardia, so I turned back and cast a spell at the troll to let him go." Amelia continued her story as she and America made their way through the French Headquarters.

America had just bailed her out of holding after a night in the slammer. They got some good coffee and croissants in the French wizarding community and even picked up a brand new racing broom for Harry. Seeing America shine with glee between sips of coffee and excited glances at the Broom made her feel refreshed and ready for a new mission briefing.

"The troll dropped him, so I enchanted the ground so it would be a bit softer for him." she remembered the ordeal excitedly, the action of casting spells, fast paced in the field, with real stakes, was exhilarating. She'd never get that from an office job in Atlas.

"But then Mr. Norway cast a spell my way, I dodged it, like in the Matrix, Uncle Alfred!" America whooped excitedly, thinking of a fight between Neo and Mr. Smith.

"Then Mr. Norway cast another spell and this time I reflected it back at him. He fell and I actually felt really bad I'd raised a wand against a Nation." Amelia remembered she and Laguardia really freaked out, if she wasn't going to get court martialed before, she was sure that would have done it. "I went to go and help him up but it turned out I'd hit a decoy. Then he appeared behind me and clapped some handcuffs on." Amelia finished her story.

America smiled at his niece, "it's a good thing you didn't actually hit him, that would have been disastrous!" He ruffled her wavy wheat hair.

Amelia rubbed her forehead in embarrassment, "Yeah! I thought I'd be expelled for sure!" Cmdr. Waverly's angry expression was still fresh in her mind when she handed in her report earlier that morning. Bloodshot eyes and a scowl, she'd never really seen her cousin like that before. But she felt relief when he told her to meet him at the French Headquarters in a few hours for a special mission briefing and figured the whole debacle wasn't as bad as she thought.

They came to a door and America waved his ID card in front of the lock. The lock turned green and the door opened to a small auditorium. "Here we are."

The small auditorium only had a few filled seats. Mr. Scotland and the other British Isles sat at the very back, observing those below. The five of them turned and waved at Amelia and America. Mr. Romano was at the front, fiddling with a computer at the podium and a projector screen behind him.

None of the other Dragons were there.

The screen behind the podium flickered to life and flashed the a logo of a globe with a set of wings, not the red and white Spartan's helmet that she expected.

She saw the commandant sitting at the front of the auditorium, still pouting so much that he looked liked he'd just bitten into a lemon. He was wearing sunglasses and leaning on Capt. Song's shoulder.

"Tell the lights to _shut up_ ," she heard him moan.

"Just drink the damn coffee, it'll help with the hangover." Song ordered him.

A stern looking woman sat on Waverly's other side, holding a dossier in one hand and a tall Thermos in the other.

"How are you this hungover, Will? You only had two drinks."

"Yeah, two too many." He cursed under his breath and made a grabbing gesture for the Thermos.

She handed the Thermos to Waverly and he drank greedily. The woman turned to look at the new arrival, and stood up.

She walked over to Amelia and placed a docket in her hands. A docket that had the letters spelling out ATLAS stamped above that logo of the world.

"Good morning, Pte. Jones, I'm Det. Margaux Bordeaux, we've met before." She greeted.

Now Amelia remembered who Det. Bordeaux was. A lethal duelist and a genius to boot, she still seemed as tense and serious as when they were kids. Now she was the top detective at Atlas' International Branch. Technically her former boss...or her boss again.

Amelia must have shown an expression of consternation in her troubled face, because Bordeaux gave a slight shake of her head and pursed her lips. "You haven't been demoted, private. We just feel you alone are the best fit for this reconnaissance mission."

Amelia stuttered and fiddled with the corner of the dossier. She didn't really understand. "What? W-why me?"

"All the details are in this dossier. You're teammates will be briefed later but we need you on this assignment right away. We'll brief you now." She pointed to the empty auditorium and America nudged her shoulder. She had to think and focus on putting one foot in front of the other to properly get to a seat. By the time she sat down, she was struggling to calm down her heart beat.

Meanwhile, Bordeaux procured a remote control from her pocket and pressed a few buttons. The lights dimmed and the projector screen behind her glowed with a neon blue light.

"I have an important mission for you." She said. A black and white photo of an ancient looking bearded man appeared on the projector screen.

"This is Nicolas Flamel, a gifted wizard and alchemist, he and his wife are the only people in the world who possess a Philosopher's Stone. Recently," the screen changed to as newspaper clipping of Gringotts and a sensational headline splashed across the front, "the security of the Stone had been compromised. It is currently at Hogwarts, but to ensure its safety, we must identify any threat to the Stone and snuff it out."

"This is a highly covert mission. Because Spartans are not allowed on British soil, mission details are strictly on a need to know basis. Anyone not in this room, do not need to know."

"You will be divided into two teams," she explained, "the reconnaissance team and support. Captain Song, Lieutenant Volkova and the rest of your team will provide support should a confrontation ever arise. You, Pte. Jones, will be sent to Great Britain with me and Mr. Wales to execute the bulk of the mission."

The screen changed to a small country home in slight disrepair. Amelia recognised it, an old safe house Spartan used during the Project.

She turned to face Amelia, "Pte. Jones, you'll be working in the field. You will infiltrate Hogwarts, find any possible threats to the security of the Stone and report on the effectiveness of the measures Professor Dumbledore has put in place."

"You will use this safe house as a base of operation, along with Mr. Wales. It is already outfitted with enchanted office supplies to send reports to me and your Captain. You will not be using post owls." Bordeaux said.

Amelia nodded to show she understood.

Bordeaux dropped her voice to an ominous and serious tone. "And because we suspect You-Know-Who may be behind this, you will protect Harry Potter if his safety is threatened, but you cannot reveal your true identity. Am I clear?"

"Crystal. Ma'am." She said excitedly.

Bordeaux smiled and turned the lights back on. "There are more mission details and procedures outlined in your docket, consult them if you are at all confused. You leave for field as soon as possible, Mr. Scotland and Mr. England will bring you to field when you are ready." She finished.

"This sounds like such a cool first mission!" She said excitedly and began flipping through her docket, her heart was still racing but for now it felt good. The prospect of going to _Hogwarts_ for a mission had chased her previous anxieties away. "How am I supposed to infiltrate Hogwarts-?"

"Like a super spy! Like James Bond or Oceans Eleven or Ethan Hunt!" America's eyes widened at the possibilities of Amelia carrying out her mission. "Maybe England will turn you into a kid and you'll get sorted into Gryffindor and you'll meet your cousin Harry oh it's going to be awesome!" he practically squealed.

"What are you on about?" Scotland laughed at America's excitement.

"I mean how else will she get into Hogwarts?" America pondered, "Or will she become a teacher? No that's boring! She won't have time to spy on Harry if she has to mark a hundred more kids' homework! Will you guys use magic and turn her into a kid? Will it be a cool potion or a charm? Or a ritual in England's basement? You know he has a really creepy basement right? There's a super creepy dungeon in the old estate up in Scotland! Hey, could I come along? I'd love to be sorted into Gryffindor again! And I'd get to spend time with Harry and save him and be the hero-"

"How much coffee did you have this morning?!" Scotland exclaimed.

Bordeaux spoke up, "Sir, there's no such thing as a de-aging spell or potion or ritual, and the solution to the problem right there." She pointed to Amelia.

"I am actually confused now." She admitted.

"There's no need to be," Bordeaux said softly, "I think you are uniquely qualified for this mission." She opened Amelia's docket to her personal file, a smiling portrait of herself shone from the top of the page. "I know you graduated at the top of your class and you've proven to be an accomplished duelist. Just earlier this week, you've shown you can think fast on your feet, and you look out for your teammate's safety as well as your own. No wonder you found a team so early out of graduation."

For the first time, Amelia saw Bordeaux smile, "If you're anything like your cousins, I have no doubt the mission will be a success. Just study the docket, you'll do fine." And she finally left with Mr. Romano.

Mr. Scotland set a firm hand on her shoulder. "I didn't get the chance to congratulate you yet."

"Thank you Uncle Al—I mean, Mr. Scotland." She tried saluting but it didn't seem right.

"At ease," Scotland sighed, he gestured to his brothers and Captain Song and the Commander who still acted a little groggy as if to say 'you're among family, drop the formalities'. "By the way, have you registered as an _animagus_ yet?"

"Oh, no?" Amelia turned red with embarrassment. "I'll do it before we go."

"No, that's perfect." Scotland smiled. He glanced at America. "That broom is for Harry, right?"

America beamed and lifted the broom above his head. "Yup! Picked it up this morning! We just need to pen the card and we'll be ready to send them all off!"

Scotland smiled. This plan was off to a good start. He turned back to Amelia and set a steady hand on her shoulder. "If you had a pet cat, what would you name it?"


	11. 1-6 Flight

Harry woke up the next morning with a storm of butterflies in his stomach. Today was going to be his first real flying lesson, and he was excited to ride a broom.

That was of course, until he walked down to the Gryffindor common room and saw a notice on the board. The First Year's first flying lesson would be that afternoon, but the First Year Slytherins would be there too. He found his other Gryffindor friends and Hermione seated in the middle of the Common Room in big beanbag chairs, complaining about their sour luck.

"I thought having potions with them was bad enough," Neville sulked. He was sitting in one of the golden chairs closest to the fireplace. In his lap was an open book, and some hand written notes. "I don't want Draco to make fun of me, have you heard him bragging about how many Muggle helicopters he's taken down in a broom? How easy would it be for him to push me off?"

"Draco's lying about that." Ron chimed, his hair was still an unruly mess and resembled a bright red crow's nest. He attempted to attack it and comb his fingers through his hair, but he quickly gave up and took a seat beside Neville. "I almost ran into a Muggle hang glider on Charlie's Clean Sweep one time, and those things look huge. Amazing something that big could actually get some bloke off the ground."

"Their wings are big to provide lift," Hermione said, "The average adult human weighs about 80 kilograms, and the wings of a glider must generate enough lift to counter the force of-"

"Hermione, we're talking about brooms here," Ron said. "But they're easy, Neville, you'll do fine."

Neville didn't look like he believed Ron, he was just shaking his head, 'no'. "My grandmother's never let me on a broom before." He said quietly.

Harry thought there was a good reason for this, Neville seemed capable of causing catastrophe with both feet on the ground. Dean and Parvati teased him for this, but gave him lots of pointers on how to hold his broom correctly and how to keep his balance while in the air. Even Hermione let him borrow a book she'd found called Quidditch Through the Ages, and explained all the notes she'd made. It simply boggled Harry how she had managed to read the book so fast and make notes for Neville too.

He considered asking Hermione if he could borrow the book too, but there was no way he'd finish it in time. Harry had never ridden a broom on his own before: his Uncle Alfred or Uncle Connor always held him so he wouldn't fall off, but Arthur wouldn't let them higher than a couple feet off the ground anyway.

So when Harry and the other Gryffindors walked out onto the wide open school grounds, the excited butterflies in his stomach had turned into a nervous stitch in his chest.

Most of the first year Slytherins were already there, crowded around two neat rows of brooms, laid on the grass. Madame Hooch stood at the head of the rows and waved at the Gryffindors to come closer.

"—I mean, it would be absolutely criminal if I don't make the Quidditch Team next year." Draco called as the Gryffindors approached, as always, he was complaining that first years couldn't be on the team. His lackeys, Goyle and Crabbe were standing nearby. Harry wondered how their brooms would generate enough lift to raise their ugly mugs of the ground. "If I don't make the team, my father would be sure to hear about it!"

"Alright, is everybody here?" Madame Hooch called, her golden, eagle like eyes scanned the crowd of nervous and eager first years for any stragglers. When everyone finally arrived, she spoke up, "Right, welcome Gryffindor and Slytherin, to your first flying lesson! Everyone, stand by a broom and hold your right hand above it."

Harry moved to stand by a broom that had twigs sticking out a weird angles. He just hoped it would fly straight, Fred and George warned that some of the school brooms would vibrate if you flew too high, or always pulled a bit to the left. Regardless, he stuck his hand straight out and over the broom's handle.

"Now, everyone, we're going to call our brooms. Say it loud and clear, 'Up'" Madam Hooch instructed.

"Up," Harry called, and in an instant, he was holding his broom tightly in his palm. He was one of the only students that were. Down the line, he saw Draco holding his broom. They met eyes, and Draco scoffed. Hermione's broom had almost rolled away, and it seemed like Neville's had actually sunk lower into the grass. Still the other Gryffindors and Slytherins kept calling, prompting their brooms to slowly float their way into their open palms.

"Up, up, up!" Ron called, but his broom had only lifted a few inches off the ground. "UP-OOF!" his broom stick shot up and hit him in the face, but he was soon holding his broom straight, flashing a toothy smile and a thumbs up to his fellow Gryffindors.

"Now everyone, mount your brooms, hold tight," Madam Hooch said.

A few Slytherins giggled, but complied. Madam Hooch went up and down the rows, correcting their grips. Neville, Ron and Harry were delighted when they heard Draco had been doing it wrong for years.

"Next, we're just going to float. Lightly kick off the ground, hover for a few feet and come back down. Ready?" the students nodded. "One, two—"

Before she could finish, Neville was already rising higher and higher into the air.

"Come back, boy!" Madam Hooch cried, but Neville shot off like a rocket, he almost tipped over, and he leaned far enough to send himself upwards and away from the rest of the group.

"Hold on Neville!

"Keep balanced!

"Just look straight ahead!

"Lower yourself!"

The other Gryffindors shouted tips to help, while the Slytherins laughed at their schoolmate's plight. Neville had tipped so far he was nearly hanging upside down.

"Neville!" Harry cried as he saw his cousin finally lose his grip. Neville's broom floated away, off to the Forbidden Forest and out of sight, while Neville hurtled back towards the earth. Harry ran towards Neville in an anxious burst, but Neville had hit the ground before he could reach him.

With a groan, Neville tried to right himself from under his robes and stand on his knees. His face looked as pale as first snow.

"That was quite a tumble." Harry said in a joking tone, trying to make light of the situation. He held out a hand toward Neville to help him up.

"It's hard to believe, but I think I've had worse." Neville cracked a smile and took Harry's hand. With a yelp he had crumpled back onto the grass.

By now, Madam Hooch and a couple other Gryffindors had arrived.

"What's wrong? Let me see," Madam Hooch offered and helped Neville up. "A broken wrist." She observed, "It's off to Madam Pomfrey with you."

"Oh again."

"Listen up, students," Madam Hooch called, "I'm going to escort this young man to the infirmary. Those brooms are not to leave the ground until I get back, or you'll be out of Hogwarts before you can say 'Quidditch'!" She said, and she and Neville disappeared back into the castle.

"Hey, look at what the oaf dropped!" Draco called, and he stooped down to pick up a small glass bobble from the grass.

"That's Neville's Remembrall!" Hermione called. Neville had gotten it in the mail earlier that day, from his grandmother.

"Give it here, Malfoy." Harry shouted.

"Then why don't you come and get it," Draco taunted, waving the glass ball in front of the Gryffindor like one would wave a treat in front of a starving dog. Harry had almost snatched it back when Draco lifted off on his broom. "Maybe I should leave it in a memorable spot, like at the top of a tree!" Draco called from his spot, hovering above the highest branches of a nearby oak.

"Bring it here Malfoy!" Anger tinged Harry voice.

"What's with that face, Potter? Ha! For a House that values bravery, you seem bloody soft me. Bet you're all too scared to come up here and take it from me."

"Well you seem pure ambitious to get some teeth knocked out!"

"Oh, I'm really quaking in my socks now!" Draco mocked.

Harry grabbed a broom off the grass.

Hermione grabbed his arm, "Don't! You'll lose our house points!" House points didn't really matter to Harry at the moment, he'd just want Draco to shut up.

"You could get expelled!" Hermione was shaking his arm now, and a twitch of fear ran through his body.

"What are you, scared Potter? Should we get your uncle to hold your hand? I hear he's from America, he must be a real buffoon!"

"Harry!" Hermione called, but Harry could only hear the wind rushing past his ears and his robes billowing out behind him.

It was exhilarating - between the wind whipping through his hair or the cries from his fellow Gryffindors, he knew he was alone in this.

But he wasn't afraid.

He didn't have one of his uncles behind him, or Arthur down below, ready to catch him should he fall- but it didn't matter.

There was no limit to how fast he could fly or how high he could climb.

The butterflies in his stomach were gone.

Harry was free.

It was exciting.

This is easy. He thought, as if this feeling of himself gripping the broom tight, untethered from the earth was as nature intended.

And he loved it.

Almost as much as he loved the expression on Draco's face, sour that he wasn't the only one brave enough to fly a broom.

"One last time Malfoy. Give me the Remembrall or I'll take it from you." Harry ordered.

"You'll have to try your best then!" Draco called as he zoomed off past the field and towards the trees.

Flying is easy, he thought, so easy in fact, he knew exactly what he had to do.

Harry leaned forward, so far his chin nearly brushed the end of the broom stick, and he shot off towards Draco.

Draco rose higher than he thought Harry would dare to go, but the blasted Gryffindor was still hot on his tail.

"If you want it so bad, just try and catch it!" Draco launched the Remembrall up to the sky and sped back down to the ground.

The Remembrall continued to soar up, and eventually arced back towards the ground. Again, Harry's instincts kicked in and he raced the glass ball to the ground. Crouching low to the broom, he pointed straight down, channeling all his focus into catching the ball.

He could see it clearly now, the white smoke in ball was amassed at the top of the globe.

He stretched out his hand.

He felt the cool glass of the ball as it fell into his open palm.

The sensation of grass brushed against his skin on the back of his hand.

He pulled out of his dive, and his feet touched the ground once more.

Looking down into his palm, he saw the smoke in the Remembrall was whisping around calmly. Triumphantly, he pumped his arm high in the air, waving around the Remembrall he miraculously caught.

He cheered, and turned to look back at his fellow Gryffindors, "Hey, I cau—"

"HARRY POTTER."

Professor McGonagall stood amongst the students, her eyes wide, but her lips formed such a thin line Harry could hardly see it.

"Never in all my years of teaching-" she began.

"It wasn't his fault!" Ron pleaded.

"Draco started it!" Parvati pointed to the Slytherin who was hiding a sneer behind his hand.

"He was just defending Neville," even Hermione joined in the attempt convince their Head of House to have mercy and not deduct any points.

"I've heard enough." Professor McGonagall said, she held up her hands to silence the barrage of defenses and pleas from the other Gryffindors. "Mr. Potter, come with me." She ordered.

Harry dropped the broom and, with a deep sigh, eventually followed Professor McGonagall towards the castle.

He actually dreaded every step he took across the field and towards the ancient stone building. Professor McGonagall held open one of the heavy oak doors to the castle, and Harry felt as if he were about to into the gaping mouth of a monster.

For the week he's been there, he'd only found excitement in exploring the castle with his new friends. And now, for the first time, he actually felt fear, following McGonagall back into the depths of the castle.

Everyone had expected great things from him, but now he was getting expelled, and he hadn't even been there a whole month!

Harry looked over his shoulder, back onto the lush green lawn where several brooms still lay, scattered where the students had dropped them in shock.

He looked at the stunned expressions on his housemate's faces, the Gryffindors he had spent the past week with. He looked to Ron who had quickly become his best friend, and his mind wandered to his cousin Neville. What if by the time Neville returned to the field, Harry would already be packing for home?

Draco doubled over and slapped his knees. His body shaking from the cruel laughter bubbling from his throat was the last thing Harry saw before the heavy oak doors slammed shut and he was alone in the castle, alone with Professor McGonagall. Harry followed Professor McGonagall and her heels as they clicked on cobblestone floor. Each footfall was like a tick closer to his expulsion.

Harry continued to follow Professor McGonagall through the maze that was the school. He thought she was bringing him to the Headmaster's office, but he doubted Professor Dumbledore would have his office in the dungeons.

He held the Remembrall in his hand, its glass surface hot against his skin, but the cold green flames of the dungeons cut into the rest of Harry's being. He had come to associate the cold and dark dungeons with Professor Snape, he couldn't think of anything scarier than Professor Snape finding out he had broken school rules, except perhaps Mr. Filch, the school caretaker and his cat Mrs. Norris. He heard many horror stories of the punishments he would dole out to students he caught with a toe out of line.

No, he knew what would scare him more than detention or lines. The thought entered his mind, and its thorny tendrils took root in his imagination.

What if he was going to be expelled? He'd be sent back home. Back to school with Dudley and his bully friends. Back to a world he didn't truly belong; under a roof that housed a powerful and magical family: if he didn't know magic, he couldn't really fit in there either.

He wouldn't be a real wizard, not like his birth parents.

Maybe Professor Dumbledore would let him stay, like he did with Hagrid. But the thought of all his friends becoming wizards while he was stuck as Hagrid's assistant made his stomach twist.

Professor McGonagall's heels continued to click on the flagstone floors. Harry continued to trot miserably behind her. If they were going to Dumbledore, she still hadn't said a word to him.

Finally, she stopped at a door and knocked.

A Ravenclaw student opened the door and greeted Professor McGonagall. They turned a little red when their eyes fell on Harry.

The student opened the door wide to reveal a Defense Against the Dark Arts class, with Professor Quirrel at the front, holding an iguana.

"Excuse me, Professor Quirrel, could I borrow Wood for a moment?"

'Wood'? Harry thought. Panic struck him. Was wood a kind of cane she would beat him back into line with?

'Wood' walked out of the classroom. He was a burly fifth-year Gryffindor who looked a bit confused at his visitors.

"Follow me you two," Professor McGonagall said, and she lead them down a hall to another classroom. It was empty, save for Peeves, the local poltergeist, who was writing rude words and doodling inappropriate images onto a chalkboard.

"Out Peeves!" She barked, and Peeves floated through a wall as quickly as he could, yelling obscenities as he left. She closed the door behind them, then turned to the two boys.

"Potter, this is Oliver Wood. Wood- I've found you a Seeker."

"Really Professor?" Wood's eyes cleared from their cloudy daze to a shining delight.

"Absolutely," she said, "the boy's a natural. I've never seen anything like it. Was that your first time on a broomstick, Potter?"

Befuddled, Harry just nodded. He didn't understand what was happening. If he was being made Seeker, he wasn't going to be expelled; but he was only in the first year. Everything was still confusing.

"He caught that Remembrall in his hand after a fifty-foot dive," she told Wood, "Charlie Weasley couldn't have done it."

Wood looked as if he had just won the jackpot lottery.

"Wood here is the captain of the Gryffindor team," Professor McGonagall explained. "I'll speak to Professor Dumbledore and see if we can bend that first-year rule. Perhaps we can win the cup this year. Flattened by that last match against Slytherin, I couldn't face Professor Snape for weeks."

Then, she peered over her glasses, straight into Harry's eyes, "I want to hear you're training hard, Potter, I may change my mind about punishing you."

Harry breathed in shock, "I'll do my best, sir, I-I mean Miss. Um, yes Professor."

Her cold and stern expression melted away when she smiled brightly at him, "Your father would be so proud, he was quite the Seeker in his day too." Professor McGonagall said.

"Really?" Harry asked, a warmth grew in his heart and the stinging cold of the dungeons ebbed away.

"Harry," Wood tapped him on the shoulder and pointed to the Remembrall in his hand, "Tell me everything."

* * *

"Seeker?" Dean gasped through a mouthful of pancakes at breakfast the next morning. Harry had just recounted the story of what happened to him, again. His friends were still quite surprised by the pleasant outcome of the whole ordeal. "But first years have never—I mean, you must be the first in—"

"A hundred years, I know." Harry breathed. He could hardly contain his emotions, and the others could clearly see it. Ron poured him a large glass of orange juice and he took a big gulp to calm his nerves. He was still tingling from yesterday's excitement. His dreams were filled with flying brooms and adoring fans, like one of Uncle Conner's games.

"Well, technically not the first," Ron said, spraying bits of French toast and sausage as he spoke. Hermione gave him a warning slap before he continued. Ron swallowed his breakfast and chased it all down with more orange juice. "Apparently there was some first year Slytherin bloke a couple years ago. But he was 14, so I don't think he counts." The others looked at him like he had just swallowed a frog instead of some toast. or perhaps some of the rumours around the Slytherins were true. Why else would someone be held back that long?

"But you're still probably the youngest Seeker ever, Harry!" Ron cheered as he tried to lower his voice into a hush.

"Wow, so that's what I missed yesterday? That's brilliant, and thank you, Harry." Neville said. His wrist was nicely healed, and his Remembrall was safely tucked away in his room upstairs.

"Well he'd better not do it again," Hermione pouted, "there's no other team for him to get on if he pulls another stunt like that."

The boys laughed as the Hall was filled with the sounds of the Owl Post arriving.

Harry looked up and saw Archimedes approaching, a large package hanging from a rope in his talons. A look of surprise found itself onto Harry's face when the large owl dropped it in front of Neville instead.

"What is that?" Hermione and Ron gasped at the large cardboard box with holes cut out in the top, accompanied by a large bag filled with Chocolate Frogs.

Neville picked at the card attached to the package. "It's from my Uncle Alistair!" he smiled and read the note.

Dear Neville,

Congratulations on getting sorted into Gryffindor, and congratulations for making it into Hogwarts at all. I knew you had it in you. Feel free to share those frogs with your friends.

Anyway, I'm having my house fumigated (the last prank Dylan pulled on me didn't go as he planned) and I'm staying with Connor for the moment. His apartment doesn't allow pets and even though Shadow is an outdoor cat, I don't want her coming home when it's dangerous like this.

Could you take care of her for me? Don't mind her if she wanders off often. She's an outdoor cat but she can find you if you call her.

Thank you and congrats again,

Alistair Kirkland

P.S. HI HARRY! HELLO NEVILLE!

Harry recognised Uncle Alfred's script at the bottom of the letter, angrily crossed out, as if the two had fought over the letter but Archimedes took off with it before it could be fixed.

Neville offered Archimedes a slice of French toast, which quickly disappeared down the bird's beak. The large owl flew off and melted back into the mass of flying birds above.

"Shadow?" Neville gingerly opened the top of the box. Inside was a large cat with cream coloured fur covering most of her body. She had a ring of dark, fluffy fur around her neck, and a lock of fur on her head that wouldn't stay down.

Neville nodded, convinced that was the reason. "Cool! Now I have two magic animals! Wait, a minute, where's Trevor?" Neville looked around his seat frantically. The others surveyed their surroundings, but the toad had gone MIA once again. Shadow jumped down from the table and scurried off to the Hufflepuff table. "And now I have no magical animals." Neville pouted.

"Wow, look at that!" Fred pointed to a long thin package held by six screech owls. It had caught everyone's attention, and Harry was astounded that this time, it was for him.

Harry was just as eager as everyone else to know what was in the package and reached for the wrapping paper as soon as the six owls flew off again. But Neville's cat had returned, and bounded onto the package, staying Harry's hands before he could rip the paper open.

In her mouth, the cat held Trevor, and returned him to Neville. Neville's eyes filled with glee that he could now find Trevor with relative ease. Then, the cat turned and picked up a pair of envelopes that were tied to Harry's package. He opened the envelopes and he decided to read their letters before opening the package. Good thing too, because one of the letters read:

DO NOT OPEN THE PARCEL AT THE TABLE

It contains your new broomstick, but I don't want the other first years knowing you got one or they'll all want one. Oliver Wood will meet you tonight at seven o'clock for your first training session.

Professor McGonagall

The next letter read:

Hi Harry!

Me and your Dad got the word that you made it onto the Quidditch team! So we got you this awesome broomstick! A Nimbus Two Thousand! Connor said it's the best model right now!

I'm your favourite uncle, aren't I? Win that Cup for Gryffindor now!

Alfred

Harry could hardly contain his delight as he passed the letters to Ron and Neville to read.

"A Nimbus Two Thousand?!" Ron mouthed in excitement. The boys quickly finished their meals and made their way to the Gryffindor Tower. Neville balanced Trevor on his head and Shadow followed close behind. The whole party wanted to unwrap the broomstick before class started. They were stopped by Malfoy and his cronies. Malfoy seized the package and felt it.

"That's a broomstick." He spat, as he shoved the package back at Harry, a tinge of jealousy tinted his voice and spite written across his face. "You're really in for it this time. First-Years aren't allowed to have them. If you're not packing up to go back to the Muggles from yesterday, you sure are heading back now."

"You're a lot braver now you're back on the ground and got your friends with you." Harry said coolly.

"I can take you on any time." Malfoy sneered.

"I've already proven myself haven't I? Now that I have this," Harry lifted the package and waved it in Malfoy's face, "there's no contest who's the better flyer."

"Please, if you got that from your squib of a father, I'm sure that doesn't even fly!" Malfoy laughed in contempt. Harry turned red in anger, Neville's cat hissed at Malfoy.

"This isn't any old broomstick," Neville spoke up, "It's a Nimbus Two Thousand." The way Malfoy's face soured was irresistible.

"That's right, what did you say you have at home? A Comet Two-Sixty, fancy, but leagues behind the Nimbus series." Ron joined in.

"What would you know, Weasley? You couldn't afford half the handle" Malfoy snapped. "You and your brothers would have to save twig by twig!"

"Not arguing I hope, are you boys?" Professor Flitwick suddenly appeared at Malfoy's elbow.

"Harry has a broomstick, sir" Malfoy pointed at Harry.

"Ah, yes, I did hear about that. Professor McGonagall told me about the special circumstances. Well, enjoy your day!" He waved and continued to walk down the hall. The way he looked back at them with his charming smile told them they'd better behave or else Miss. Norris may be tipped to them.

When Professor Flitwick disappeared around the corner, Malfoy stepped up to Harry and they met eye to eye. "I wasn't lying when I said I could take you on." He hissed.

"What would it be this time?" Harry entertained a thought, "A contest to see who has the most bullheaded group of friends? Oh, I guess you do win that one."

"And I'll win our wizard duel too." Malfoy replied. "Wands only—no contact. In the Trophy room at midnight. That is of course, unless you're too scared. What's the matter? Never heard of a wizard duel before?"

"Of course he has," said Ron, "I'm his second, who's yours?"

"Crabbe." Malfoy gestured to his friend, the more pig-headed of the two. "Midnight, tonight." Malfoy said, "Be there."

The three boys sized each other up again and left for class.


	12. 1-7 Facing Monsters, Seeing Ghosts

1.5 Facing monsters, seeing ghosts

During lunch that afternoon, Hedwig fluttered by, with a letter tied to her leg.  
The letter read in an untidy scrawl:

 _Dear Harry,_

 _I know you get Friday afternoons off so would you like to come over and have a cuppa tea with me around three?_

 _I want to hear all about your first week. Send an answer back with Hedwig._

 _Hagrid_

"I've heard about Hagrid," Neville spoke nervously, "the savage man who lives in the Forbidden Forest."  
"Those are just rumors," Harry said, "I met him, he's really nice. Come with me later, you'll see."

So at quarter to three, Harry, Ron, and Neville made their way down to Hagrid's hut at the edge of the Forbidden Forest.  
The small yard that surrounded it had a garden for berries and fruits. A wooden sign for pumpkins stood in front of a row of dark earth, with the beginnings of sprouts peeking up from the dirt.  
Hagrid's hut was a quaint little lodging of knotted wood logs on a stone foundation. Twisted branches lined the open windows, Harry and company could hear the din of cooking and clanking pots. A crossbow and a gigantic pair of muddy galoshes were set on the side of the house.

When Harry knocked on the door, they heard thunderous barking and furious claws on the other side.  
"Back, Fang! Back!" They heard Hagrid call. He cracked the door open and the smell of bread and tea gently wafted on the wind.  
"Hello boys, hang on," he turned back in to the house, "Back, Fang."  
Hagrid opened the door and let them in, still struggling to hold the collar of a large black boar hound.  
"Make yourselves at home," Hagrid said. He lost his grip on the collar and Fang bounded towards Ron and knocked him off his feet.  
"Stop it, that tickles!" Ron laughed as Fang licked his ears.  
Neville giggled behind his hands and Harry smiled warmly. Just like Hagrid, Fang wasn't as fierce as he looked.

Neville relaxed with some tea and fresh fruits from the garden. Hagrid offered the lot of them homemade raisin scones, though he dubbed them 'Rock cakes'. The formless black lumps of hard bread and raisins reminded Harry of Arthur's many disastrous attempts at baking. Neither of the boys wanted to offend Hagrid, so they pretended to like them anyway.

Through warm sips of tea and bites of rock cake that threatened to crack their teeth, the boys chatted about their first week at Hogwarts.

"-and then we found out Harry and Neville are cousins!" Ron said as he spit black crumbs across the knitted tablecloth.

"Really? How?" Hagrid asked.

"Uncle Alistair," Harry and Neville chimed together.

"Good bloke, that Alistair." Hagrid said fondly, and Harry let a sigh of relief, confirmation that his uncle was a good man. "Did yeh know, 'e taugh' at the school before the war and before he went to work at the Ministry."

"Really?" Harry asked.

"Yeah, taught Histr'y of Magic before Binns took the job." He said, then scrunched up his face, and stroked his beard. "No, wait that can't be, I was in school then. That musta been his Uncle Aldrich." He snapped his fingers as he remembered correctly, "That's right! Alistair taught Charms or Potions or summat."

"I wish _we_ had Uncle Alistair instead of Professor Snape for Potions," Neville sighed into his tea. "Professor Snape must hate us."

"Now why would yeh think that?" Hagrid asked.

Neville and Harry told him about their lesson, how he singled out Harry and yelled at Neville.

"Oh don't feel bad, Snape hates everyone." Ron said, "He takes points off of Fred and George all the time."

"But he seemed to really hate me." Harry pleaded.

"Rubbish!" Hagrid cried, "Why should he?" But Harry couldn't help but think Hagrid refused to meet his eyes when he said that. Hagrid turned to Ron, "Anyway, how's yer brother Charlie? I always liked him, good with animals."

Ron and Hagrid and Neville continued on their conversation, but Harry couldn't shake the feeling there was something Hagrid wasn't telling him about Snape. His eyes fell on a newspaper lying on a chair nearby, the headline caught his eye.

 **Gringotts Break-In Latest**

He skimmed the first few lines, and remembered in whispers and rumours between classes or during dinner about the break in, but the gossip was never clear on the date.

"Gringotts goblins today insist nothing had been taken. The Vault was searched and had in fact been emptied earlier that same day." The article read.

"Hagrid!" said Harry, "the Gringotts break in happened on my birthday! It might've even happened while we were there!"

Hagrid didn't meet Harry's eyes but instead offered him more tea and rock cakes.

Harry knew vault Seven Hundred and Thirteen was emptied that day, if taking out one measly grubby little package counted as emptying. Harry wondered if that was what the thieves were looking for.

As the three boys walked back up the hill with rock cakes weighing their pockets, (the sweet boys had been too polite to refuse) questions whizzed around in Harry's head.

Had Hagrid collected the package in the nick of time?

Where was it now?

And did Hagrid know something about Snape he didn't want Harry to know?

 **OOO**

During dinner in the Great Hall that evening, Harry and Ron exchanged pointed glances at each other and across the room, excited about what they'd be doing that night. Hermione watched them disappointedly, with pursed lips.

After dinner, it was off to Quidditch training with Wood, then finally, Harry met Ron in the bustling Common Room. Some upper years were quizzing each other and preparing for tests the next week. Neville and Seamus tried practicing the charms they learned in class and were subsequently sent to Madame Pomfrey for medical attention.

Harry, Ron and Dean found a corner to themselves.

"Are you tired from Quidditch training at all?" Ron asked in hushed tones.

"Not at all, I think I'm more energized than ever." Harry said excitedly. And for the next few hours before curfew, Ron and Dean coached Harry on what he'd do during the duel.

"If he casts a spell at you, you'd better dodge it, because I forgot how to block them." Dean offered.

"And what if I cast a spell and nothing happens?" Harry asked.

"Then drop your wand and just lamp him." Ron instructed. "Neither of you know enough magic yet to do anything other than make sparks fly."

And so, Harry and Ron retired to bed with everyone else, but laid awake in their beds, waiting for midnight. Before long, the breathing of their dorm mates slowed, and it even seemed the wind outside finally caught some rest.

"It's half-past eleven," Harry said as he checked his watch, "let's go." He and Ron carefully snuck out of their dorm, around the tower and down the spiral staircase, their footsteps like quiet pads. Harry felt he was pushing his luck, breaking school rules twice in as many days. And he had a feeling Filch would be less forgiving than Professor McGonagall should they get caught. But Malfoy's _very punchable_ face kept sneering at him in the dark, and it spurred him on.

"Okay, no one is around." Ron said when they made it to the Common Room. It was dark and the embers in the fireplace had nearly died. The shadows that bounced around the room turned the armchairs and beanbags into ominous, hunchbacked forms. But at least it was finally empty.

"You know, this is very selfish of you two." A voice called from the shadows. A lamp flicked on to reveal Hermione in her chair and clothed in a pink bathrobe, and staring daggers at them both.

She opened her mouth to lecture them, "I couldn't help to overhear you earlier—"

"—bet you could." Ron snapped.

"You mustn't go sneaking around at night. Imagine all the points you'll lose for our House when you get caught. And you will get caught." She called after them, but they were already making their way to the portrait hole.

"I really don't think it's any of your business." Was Ron's response.

"I almost told your brother you know." She said matter of factly, with her hands on her hips, she blocked their way. "Percy, he's a prefect. He'd put a stop to this."

Harry had never met someone so interfering before.

"Goodnight, Hermione!" Ron cried as he grabbed Harry by the wrist and pulled him around Hermione and out the Fat Lady's portrait hole.

"Don't you two _care_ about Gryffindor? You don't want Slytherin to win the House Cup when you loose all of Gryffindor's points I won us for knowing about switching spells, do you?" Hermione called as she followed them out of the Common Room and into the hallway. Of course she wouldn't give up that easily.

"Go away." Ron sneered through gritted teeth.

"All right, but I warned you," she huffed, nose high in the air, "You'll be sure to remember what I told you lot when you're on the train home tomorrow. You're both so-"

They never found out what they were, because Hermione was left in shock to see the Fat Lady had left her frame for a nighttime visit. Hermione was locked out of Gryffindor tower.

"Now what am I supposed to do!?"

"Well that's your problem." Ron said, "Well we better be off. We'll be late."

Ron and Harry didn't even get down the corridor before they heard footsteps bounding after them in the dark.

"I'm coming with you!" Hermione said determinedly.

"No. You are not!" Ron said hoarsely, like he'd tried to suppress a scream under a whisper, so as to not wake the other portraits around them.

"What, you think I'm just going to stand there and wait until Mr. Filch catches me? When he finds all three of us, I'll tell him the truth. That you snuck out and I tried to stop you." She explained curtly.

"You've got some nerve-" Ron could hardly contain his voice any longer.

"Bugger down now, both of you!" Harry hissed, "I heard something."

The three of them turned to the direction of the sound of rustling fabric.

"Mrs. Norris?" Ron squeaked.

It wasn't Mrs. Norris, but Neville. He was curled up on the floor and was just get back to his feet and rubbed sleep from his eyes.

"Thank goodness you found me! I've been locked out here for hours!" He told them how he'd ended up locked out of Gryffindor Tower. On the way back from Madame Pomfrey, he thought he saw Trevor, his constantly MIA toad, but lost track of him yet again. He couldn't find Uncle Alistair's cat either, who wouldn't come when called. "Then I couldn't remember the password for the Common Room."

"Keep your voice down Neville," Harry said as he helped Neville to his feet. "The password is 'pig snout', but the Fat Lady is out. It won't help you now."

The hope in Neville's eyes were dashed as he groaned and buried his head in his hands.

"Hey, your hands look better." Harry said, as he scrambled for something to make Neville feel better.

"Yeah, Madame Pomfrey fixed me all up. Though I'm not sure I'd want to practice charms with Seamus again."

"Good-well, look, Neville, we've got to be somewhere." Ron said, "We'll be seeing you all later."

"No wait! Don't leave me! The Bloody Baron's already passed this way twice!"

Ron grabbed Harry's wrist and peered at his watch. "If any of you get us caught, I swear I won't stop until I learn the Curse of the Bogies that Flitwick talked about in class." He groaned.

Hermione opened her mouth as if to explain to Ron exactly how to perform the Curse of the Bogies, but stopped when she saw the expression on his face. He clearly wasn't having any of it.

Ron led the way through the darkened halls of Hogwarts. They flitted through the thin strips of moonlight that illuminated the upper halls. Harry thought they made the floors and walls look like bars on a jail cell and expected Filch or Mrs. Norris to meet them around the next corner; but they were lucky.

They finally made it to the trophy room. Moonlight bounced off the crystal trophies and gave the impression that they were standing inside a kaleidoscope. Plates, trophies, medals and statues winked gold, silver and bronze from the shadows in between the spots of crystal light.

Harry took out his wand and adopted a fighting stance, ready in case Malfoy liked to play dirty and wanted to start the duel right away. Neville watched the minutes tick by nervously.

"They're late." Ron pouted. "I bet he chickened out."

Suddenly, a noise from the hall made them all jump. Harry had a charm on his tongue, but stayed his hand when they heard someone speak—it wasn't Malfoy.

"Sniff around, my sweet, they might be lurking in a corner."

The sound of Filch's voice echoing through the castle struck them all cold. Harry waved madly at the others, beckoning them to follow him as quickly as possible, and away from Filch's voice. Neville's robes had barely whipped around a corner when they heard Filch enter the trophy room.

"They're around here somewhere," they heard his ragged voice mutter, "probably hiding."

Harry mouthed to the others, "this way," and urged them out of their petrified stupors. With Harry in the lead, they crept down a long gallery, where shining suits of armour lined the walls. They could hear Filch's footsteps and rough mutterings to his cat grow closer.

Neville suddenly broke into a run and tripped. He grabbed Ron around the waist and they both toppled into a suit of armour. The clanging and clashing of plate armour and mail tumbling to the flag stone floors of the castle echoed enough to wake the dead.

"RUN!" Hermione yelled, and they raced down another hall, not daring to look back to see whether filch was on their tail. They took a swing at every corner, and galloped down each corridor. They had no idea where they were going, and the deeper they went into the castle, the less moonlight seemed to shine through the windows. Finally, Hermione tugged them all behind a ripped tapestry, and found a hidden passageway. Hurtling along it, they finally came out near the Charms classroom.

"I told you—I told you," Hermione wheezed as she clutched a stitch in her chest, "I—told—"

"We need to get back to Gryffindor tower." Ron said.

"You know Malfoy trick you, right?" Hermione gasped, eyes wide at Harry. "He was never going to meet you, and Filch knew someone was coming. Malfoy must have tipped Filch off."

Harry felt his throat tighten. She was probably right, but he wouldn't give her that kind of satisfaction. "Let's just go back." He sighed tiredly, and they started dragging their feet down the hall. They hadn't gone more than a dozen paces before they heard a doorknob rattle in front of them. Surely, they were caught now.

Peeves burst through the door and let it slam against the stone wall. He laid eyes on the four Gryffindors and let out a shrill squeal of delight.

"Shut up Peeves! Please, you'll get us thrown out!" Ron spat

Peeve chortled.

Wandering around past curfew, Ickle Firsties? Naughty, naughty, you're going to get caughty!"

"Not if you don't give us away, please!" Hermione cried.

"Should tell Filch I should," a wicked light glinted in his empty eyes, "It's for your own good, you know."

Neville cradled his head between his hands.

"Oh piss off and get out of my way!" Ron swiped at Peeves, but he just fell through the poltergeist's floating body, and collapsed, freezing on the floor.

"STUDENTS OUT OF BED!" Peeves bellowed, "STUDENTS OUT OF BED IN THE CHARMS CORRIDOR!"

Harry and Neville grabbed Ron by the shoulders and they ran for their lives, right to the end of another corridor where they slammed into a door—locked.

"This is it! This is the end!" Neville shrieked, "We're done for!" Ron cried through chattering teeth.

Harry tried his best to open the door, but the doorknob wouldn't budge. The sound of Filch's steps pounded in their ears like a death knell. "It's locked!"

"Are you a wizard or not?" Hermione snapped. She grabbed Harry's wand and tapped the lock and whispered, " _Alohomora!"_

The lock clicked and the door opened, they piled through it and shut it. Harry and Hermione pressed their ears to the door, listening. Ron peeked through the keyhole.

"Where did they go, Peeves?" They heard Filch demand.

"Say _pleeeease!"_

"Don't start with me, Peeves! _Where did they go?"_

"Shant say nothin' if you don't say please!" Peeves cried in a sing-song voice.

"All right—" Filch gave in, "Please." He forced through his teeth.

"NOTHIN'!" Peeves shouted as he floated up and away, "Told you I wouldn't say nothing if you didn't say please!"

Filch waved his fist and cursed in rage, then stamped around a corner, slouched over and tired.

"He thinks this door is locked," Hermione said, "he's moved his search elsewhere."

"I think we'll be okay now—what Neville?" Harry sighed, as Neville had been pulling on his robe for the past minute.

Harry turned around, and wondered if this was all just some crazy dream, it was just too much, after all that's happened.

But the nightmare just kept getting better.

This wasn't a room, it was a corridor. The forbidden corridor on the third floor.

And Harry suddenly knew why it was forbidden.

They were face to face with a monstrous dog. Its body reached up to the ceiling, and its hot breath filled the space. The monster had three heads; three noses twitching in their direction and three slobbering mouths. Saliva pooled at the floor near its claws from where it dripped off yellowed and sharp fangs.

Its six mad, rolling eyes studied them, surprised at the new arrivals. But its shock was wearing thin, and Harry didn't want to stay until those thunderous growls met a climax. Harry stumbled backwards through the door, and everyone made a mad dash down the hall. Harry slammed the door shut before the monster pounced on him, and he too joined the race back to Gryffindor Tower.

"Where have you all been?" The Fat Lady asked head turned in concern at the robes hanging off their shoulders and their flushed, sweaty faces.

"Never mind, pig snout, pig snout." Ron panted, and they scrambled through the portrait hole. They finally found purchase and collapsed into the Common Room armchairs.

It was a long while until Neville caught his breath and asked, "What do they think they're doing, keeping a dog like that in here? There children here!"

Hermione had gotten her breath, and her temper back, "None of you really use your eyes, do you?" she snapped, "Didn't you see what it was standing on?"

"The floor?" Harry cried.

"No, that wasn't a floor! Weren't you looking at its feet?"

"Its feet?" Ron wailed, "Sorry, no, I was too occupied by its bloody ugly gobs!"

"Urg!" Hermione groaned, she tossed her head back in utter contempt of their perceived stupidity. "It was standing on a trap door! _Obviously,_ it's hiding something."

The boys looked at her through slitted eyes, confused.

She gave up and threw her hands up in the air, "Whatever! I hope you're all pleased with yourselves anyway. We could all have been killed—or worse, _expelled!_ " With a final breathless sigh, she said "Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm going to bed."

Ron stared after her, "That girl's got to sort out her priorities." And they all went up to their dorms.

But while Harry laid in bed that night, her thought of what Hermione had said. If the dog had been guarding something, what exactly was it? He remembered Hagrid told him Gringotts was the safest place in the world if you wanted to hide something—second only to Hogwarts.

Harry felt as if a lightbulb lit up in his head, he'd found out where that little package from Vault Seven Hundred and Thirteen was.

* * *

Aldrich waited at the crowded subway platform with a heavy backpack filled with books and reports, and his arms weighed down with reusable bags filled with groceries. He felt that saying the subway system of Toronto was sparse would be an understatement, compared to his childhood of travelling around in the tubes of London, England.  
Toronto had two main subway lines. The Line 1, a U-shaped route that began at the Northwest end of the city and ran all the way down to the lakeshore and looped back up, to the Northeast end; and the Line 2, that cut across the city in a straight line. Lines 3 and 4 expanded the main lines, like little tails on the end of each one.

The subs of the Line 2 had old and grey, clunky cars that were reminiscent of turn of the century steel construction. At least they were fairly reliable to run on time.  
He heard the scream of the subway as it rumbled through the tunnels. Chun-Yan often joked it sounded like lamenting undead spirits.  
Its bright headlight shone on the tiled walls and ads of the platform, and the gusty winds it brought with it whipped his hair around like a storm as it sped past.  
The Two came to a screaming halt in front of Aldrich. Passengers disembarked, then Aldrich and the others waiting on the platform clambered on.

It was too full.

Aldrich took a deep breath as he decided to just stand. He was crowded between a lady reading the newspaper and an elderly man holding a briefcase. But Aldrich wasn't uncomfortable, he wasn't claustrophobic anymore anyway.  
He stood in front of auditoriums full of students and had been taking the subway for years now.  
He could do this.

Someone bumped into Aldrich. A burly man with rock music blaring loudly from his headphones jumped into the car just before the doors closed and the sub was off again. He raised a hand in apology to Aldrich then looked around the car for a place to sit or stand. He plopped down into a seat occupied by a wavy blond haired man in a suit.  
"Um, excuse me, eh." the blond said quietly, and he tapped the man on the shoulder. The man sitting on him had his music on too loud. No one else made a move or acknowledged the pathetic blonde. "Excuse me, please."

Aldrich kicked the headphone man's foot lightly.  
He looked up at Aldrich, confused.  
Aldrich lifted his arm and pointed to his ear in a strong gesture.  
The man lifted one headphone off his ear.  
"Excuse me, eh," the blond tapped his shoulder again.

"Christ! I didn't even see you there!" He jumped off the blond. "I'm sorry, man." The headphone man flustered, embarrassed.

"It's fine, eh," the blond laughed to himself weakly, "this isn't the first time it's happened, actually." He admitted in defeat as he dusted off his suit and attempted to straighten it again.

The headphone man waved and turned away, and stood alone in his own world of obnoxiously loud music further down the car.  
"Hey," the blond lightly nudged Aldrich, "thanks, eh." And he smiled.

They met eyes, and Aldrich froze.

He felt as if he were staring a monster in the face. He didn't know why he suddenly felt like he was being overwhelmed by something thousands of times bigger than himself.  
He shouldn't be like this.  
The man was nothing short of warm and welcoming; from his bouncy blond waves and the one flyaway hair, his retro round glasses and his professional looking suit that spoke of esteemed grace and class. But Aldrich felt waves of danger blooming off him.  
As if a chill had stolen his breath, Aldrich just stared into those deep eyes. He couldn't respond.

The man smiling at him showed no ill intention, but Aldrich thought the blond's eyes looked cold.  
A spark of recognition flared in the man's violet irises.  
"Eh, do I know you from somewhere?" He asked Aldrich.

Fear.

"N-no, I'm afraid not." He said sternly.  
He answered too quickly.

Those violet eyes trailed down to his chest.  
He gripped his chest to check if his university ID had given him away.  
A. Kirkland.  
His name was laid clear for those violet eyes to discern and scrutinize.  
He stuttered. "Or, um unless you were one of my students?" He tried to play it cool.

"No, I don't think so. Sorry." The man shrugged. "I just thought you reminded me of one of my uncles or his son." he mused, he brought his hand up to his chin, contemplating and studying Aldrich further, analyzing his face, looking for a trace of his scar. "You do look a lot like him actually..."

"Maybe I just have that kind of face." Aldrich struggled to choke out. At least Aldrich had worn his coloured contacts that day, they hid his true colours, he was sure the man wouldn't recognize him from his false eyes. But his scar... He didn't want to rub his face to check and risk bringing attention to it or peeling away the makeup. He looked at his reflection in a window, the dark walls of the tunnel acted like a looking glass- could this man see what he hid under the layers of foundation? He felt his heart beat in his chest like a jackhammer, chipping away at his resolve.

"Yeah, maybe." His violet eyes crinkled in his smile.

Aldrich wanted this conversation with this guy to end. He finally tore his eyes away from the violet eyed man and looked around the car for something else to focus on.  
He wanted to prevent a panic attack.  
He needed to ground himself.

A woman further down the car caught his eye. Had she been watching him and the other man's conversation the whole time? Stern and severe, hair cut short to regulation length. She wore a pin on her lapel that looked like a Spartan's helmet.

He cracked. The jackhammer in his heart put a strain on his lungs.  
He had to leave.  
NOW.

"Are you okay, eh?" Aldrich felt those violet eyes on him again. The man brushed at his left arm. Aldrich flinched and pulled away violently.

"I'm fine." Aldrich snapped.  
The woman with the Spartan pin started walking towards her charge. He couldn't breathe.

The automated female voice announced on the PA that the subway was arriving at a station. Aldrich darted through the doors as soon as they opened.  
"Hey! Wait up, eh!" The violet eyed man called after him, but Aldrich wanted nothing more to just get away. He carried on and was swallowed up in the crowd. His old hatred of people bumping or brushing against him flared in the back of his mind. He hated when people touched his left side, he was blind and he wouldn't be able to see any danger or incoming threats. But the Spartan couldn't get him if he hid himself in a crowd.

That's all that mattered.  
He didn't turn back.

Aldrich rushed through the crowd and got past the turnstiles. Their incessant beeping resounded in his ears. The jackhammer pounded relentlessly in his chest. The newspapers at the kiosks screamed headlines at him: _danger!_ He bounded up the steps toward the street level of the city, and found himself in a public transit station. People bustled passed and around him, trying to get where they needed to go.

It was too loud.

He made his way to a more open part of the station, in a sorry attempt to catch his breath. Buses and streetcars lined up in neat rows just outside the floor to ceiling windows.  
Their red painted exteriors beaconed to him like warning signs. Aldrich realized he didn't actually know where he was.  
He didn't want to be lost.  
He didn't want to be sick.

He looked for something to tell him what station this was. The street outside looked somewhat unfamiliar. A sign above one of the waiting streetcars read Bathurst Station. He was still nine more stations away from his destination. Still so far away from home. Away from safety.

Aldrich gripped his university ID and shoved the lanyard under his sweater. The plastic was cool against his skin and the fabric ribbon around his neck was soft. He rubbed at the card under his sweater for stimulation, a sense of touch to ground him, it wasn't nearly enough.  
He pulled at his sides, and drew himself in, away from the chaos of the station. He knew he shouldn't do this, he needed to ground himself in reality- expose his senses to his environment, but he's embarrassed. Tears welled up in his eyes.

"Sir?" A female voice called from behind him. Another wave of fear coursed through him. The Spartan had followed him there. "Sir," someone tapped his left arm.

"Stay _away_ from me!" He screamed. The people in the station turned their heads at the commotion.

The Spartan lady looked stunned and confused. Her stance read 'military'; shoulders squared, back straight, chin forward and her eyes aimed directly at her target. It terrified Aldrich. She held his grocery bags out to him in outstretched arms. "You forgot these on the car, sir." concern tinged her voice.

Aldrich opened his mouth to address her, but all that came out was a heavy breath. He bit his lip and turned away from the lady; he couldn't bear to look at her Spartan helmet pin, where tiny little letters spelled out S.P.A.R.T.N. in a marching line below it. "Just set them down...and leave... _please_." he choked out.

She set down the bags, "Sir, do you need any help?"

He shook his head vigorously. She hesitated, but she eventually left him to his demons.  
The Spartan lady stepped back, her heels clicked on the linoleum tiles as she made her way back towards the stairs to the underground. "Yes, Matthew? I'm coming back down." Aldrich heard her speak into a communicator. Out of the corner of his eye, he watched her disappear down the escalator, into the depths of the station.

He inched towards the bags when he was sure she was gone. He tried picking one up but he flinched, as if he had put his hand in a fire, and dropped it. Its hard thud echoed in the glass and tile room. He felt as if the people waiting around on benches in the room or even outside on the sidewalk were staring at him.  
'What's wrong with that guy?'  
'What's his problem, damn hoser.'  
'This guy sick or something?'  
'Yo, someone call Mount Sinai, patient escaped?'  
He was a man who didn't belong-STOP!

He shouldn't be thinking like this! He fought himself in his mind. Trembling, he backed up to a wall, and slowly slid down the painted concrete. He sat on the cold floor, as tears streamed down his face and buried his head in his hands.  
Embarrassed.  
In public. The worst place to have a panic attack. All his shattered pieces laid out for everyone to see. He hugged his head to his knees, and tried to make himself smaller and unseen.  
'Let's do your breathing exercises' he could hear Jack tell him in his mind. He breathed raggedly.

In a haze, he dug his phone out of his pocket and brought up the emergency dialer. With one button press, the phone began ringing. He cradled it to his ear, so precious and vital to his survival.  
She picked up immediately.

ooo

"Aldrich?" Chun-Yan tried speaking into the mouth piece again, but Aldrich hadn't spoken in a while.  
She hung up. She saw him from the sidewalk. Slumped over, his backpack prevented him from resting against the wall, arms hung limply by his sides, with a pair of reusable grocery bags filled with food and errands by his feet.

Chun-Yan entered Bathurst station and was careful to approach him on his right side.  
"Aldrich." She called quietly.  
He lifted his head slowly. Artificially bright green irises hid tired grey beneath.  
"Aldrich, how are you feeling?"

He pulled his knees to his chest and wrapped his arms around his legs.  
"I feel very...exhausted."

"Did you do your breathing exercises?" Chun-Yan asked.  
He nodded.  
"Can you tell me what happened?"  
He opened his mouth to speak but quickly closed it and chewed on his lips. He looked around the station nervously.  
"Okay, never mind, you don't have to tell me now."

"I just want to go home." He sighed.

"Alright, give me your hand." Chun-Yan offered to help him up. She was extra careful not to touch his left forearm, but with his hands held tightly in in hers, she helped him up with ease.  
He got to his feet alright, but his typical soldier straight posture had degraded to the point where he was slouched over, his arms kept close around his torso, his knees bent and his stance unbalanced. His backpack weighed heavy on his back.  
"Stand up straight, Aldrich." She scolded and pat his back to urge him to straighten up. "You're safe, I'll make sure of it."

Aldrich nodded and reached to pick up one of the bags. He pulled back as if his finger had been pricked. He hesitated again.

"What's wrong?" Chun-Yan asked.  
Aldrich shook his head.  
"I'm just being paranoid," he breathed slowly. He ground his palm into his forehead, as he told himself to get over it.

Chun-Yan took both bags so they hung from her elbows, and took Aldrich by the hand. She needed to know what's bothering him, but she won't pry here. Not in public.  
"It's alright, Aldrich. Let's just get you home." She smiled, she was always so accepting of Aldrich and all his faults. And she never wanted him to hurt himself again. She led him back towards the escalators that sunk into the underground part of the station. "I'll text Jack, see if they can get a pot going so you can have some tea once you get home."

Aldrich suddenly pulled his hand out of hers. He stood there, at the top of the escalator, and slowly paced away from it.  
"Aldrich!" Chun-Yan cried, stunned, she was still moving further away from her charge. "What is it now?" Flustered, she tried climbing back up, but there were other transit goers in her way. Groaning, she turned around and ran down the escalator, grabbed the railing to make a sharp turn, sprinted up the stairs to Aldrich, and apologized to anyone she might have shoved.  
"Aldrich, what's wrong?"

"Bloody hell." He hid his face in his hands.  
"Hey!"  
"I can't...I can't go down there again." He said quietly. "I... just...there's," he trembled as he searched for a reasonable explanation why he couldn't bring himself to perform a simple task that he'd been able to do unhindered for a while now.

Chun-Yan put a comforting hand on his shoulder, "it's fine. We'll get a cab." already she was moving on, towards a hall that lead to the parking lot. She waved him over.

"But..." Aldrich pointed down towards the subway. A look that asked 'why are you enabling me?' spread across his face.

"Don't push yourself, Aldrich. You've just been having a bad day, is all."

"Again." He cursed under his breath.

"There's no point in forcing you like this right now. I just want you to get home and rest."

Aldrich nodded, and so, with his head hung, he followed Chun-Yan out of the station.

Aldrich was quiet and drained through the whole cab ride. He counted quietly under his breath as he stared out the window at the streets that blurred past. At a particularly long red light, he finally spoke up.  
"It was the lunch rush hour," just above a whisper.  
Chun-Yan closed the window between them and the driver to give Aldrich more privacy.  
"There were just so many people. I guess I freaked out. I know I shouldn't be like this anymore, I couldn't help it and- and."

Chun-Yan set her hand on his. "It's alright. You got out of there and did your breathing exercises on your own, and you didn't hurt anyone else either, right?"  
Chun-Yan felt Aldrich's hand tense up.  
"Right?"

"Right." Aldrich said quickly.

"Is there anything else, Aldrich?"

Aldrich just chewed on inside of his cheek. This concerned her. He wasn't usually this guarded. Over the past couple years he'd been functioning regularly and well, as if he lived like someone without an anxiety disorder. But the past couple months he'd been getting worse. His nightmares had returned and it seemed more and more things kept showing up that could set him off again. He'd worried about his makeup and his scar more than once. He'd freaked out when a barista at Starbucks misspelled his name.  
And now he'd seem to be developing claustrophobia again. He'd flinched whenever someone brushed up on his left side, now he was scared of the subway. She remembered how often he and Jack had gone to block parties, Center Island and the Pride Parade over the summer. There were so many people and he was fine.

"Have you been keeping on top of your meds?" Chun-Yan stared into his eyes. He hesitated. "Aldrich?"

"Yes." He said. The tip of his nose took on a pink hue.

He didn't say another word the rest of the way home. He fiddled with his watch and mumbled under his breath.  
Of course Chun-Yan could hear him, the word on her lips she didn't want to speak, but he kept repeating over and over.  
She reached to set a comforting hand on his, but he shied away. She could have sworn she saw tears in his eyes before he screwed them shut and continued, "Don't relapse. Don't relapse."

The cabbie finally pulled up to the house on Annette Street and Chun-Yan paid.  
"Now, let's get those groceries in the fridge." She said cheerfully as she walked up the steps to Aldrich and Jack's house. She stopped at the top of the porch, her finger hovered over the doorbell.

"Wait." Aldrich called. Chun-Yan saw he was standing still on the sidewalk, his arms held close. He was looking over his shoulders nervously, casting suspicious shades at passersby and neighbours. His eyes met Chun-Yan's, scared and pleading.

"Tell me what's wrong, Aldrich." She said softly.

He took a couple more breaths before he could choke out, "Please...don't tell Jack." He said as he wiped tears from his eyes.

* * *

Amelia ran through the cobblestone streets, past the Three Broomsticks and down a small winding road. Too narrow for cars and even too small for horse carriages. A street made for walking, trees with fairy lights and shops with residences on top lined the road. She bounded swiftly through the legs of passing wizards and witches, their robes fluttered in the night air. She finally came up to a small little cottage that showed signs of disuse. The front door didn't have a doggy door, so she scratched a code into the weather worn wood with a soft paw and claws.  
Wales opened the door, nodded, and let her in.

Once the door was closed and she was safely inside, away from prying eyes, she shifted back into a human form. Her paws grew to hands and fingers, her limbs lengthened and regained their muscle mass. Her ears morphed to their right place and the fur all over her body shrunk to fine hair and cloth. Her feline features had melted away, and she was left in a crouching position, wearing a simple white t-shirt and khaki shorts. She stood up and stretched, and popped her shoulder blades to urge them to get used to their human shape again.

"Anything new to report, Pte. Jones?" Wales asked, as he wrapped a wool robe around her shoulders.

"Nothing much, sir." Amelia said with a salute, "I've finally confirmed Pte. Messer's list of current staff, I caught Professor Trelawney up in her tower, she's safe. And Harry seems to be fairing pretty well too, he and his friends should be heading down to dinner soon." She concluded her report.

Wales nodded, "Well, add that to your earlier report and send it off to Cmdr. Waverly with the type-writer after dinner." He pointed her to the door for the kitchen, "now if you'll excuse me," he said as he inched towards the loo. In the kitchen, a pot of pasta and a pan of tomato sauce was boiling on a gas stove. Garlic, grape tomatoes and basil sat on the counter on a cutting board, as a sharp knife floated above them. A small laptop sat open close by, as it played an episode of some sort of cooking show. Enchanted knives mimicked the movements the chef made in the video almost perfectly, and cut the vegetables into small pieces.

'and then we sauté,' the TV chef instructed. The cutting board magically lifted itself off the counter and dumped its contents onto a waiting pan on the stove. The sound of sizzling ingredients sang pleasantly from both the pan on the stove and the one in the video.

Wales had to come by and help make the safe house more habitable. When she first arrived, she found the MRE rations were just past due. At least there was no real food left in the house to rot. Wales went out to buy food from the market earlier that day. Wales decided he or one of his brothers would have to return every so often to resupply the house and Det. Bordeaux would have to come by and grant her respite sometime.

She walked to the great room where one wall was occupied by a large fireplace and dusty picture frames. She took a seat in the large sofa and simply took two whole scene in.

In the great room, balls of flame that looked like they were encased in ice floated about the ceiling, like a mass of helium balloons. They lit up the room nicely, where there was a large table where Amelia would type out her reports. An LED lamp aimed at the type-writer to give the space even more light, but the rooms beyond the doors of the great room were pitch dark and empty.

It was a little sad, seeing the cottage so empty, how any room Atlas wouldn't find a use for would be left cold and dark. She had great memories of spending summers up here with her cousins. At least with her and Mr. Wales using the cottage again, she was breathing a little bit of life back into the place.

Near the front of the house was a large window. The curtains were drawn and dark, but when there was life in this place it would be wide open to the courtyard in the middle of the town. In front of it was an upright piano, hidden under a dusty tablecloth. Upon the piano's top board, were some more dusty picture frames. She picked one up and turned it over in her hands.

The lacquer was peeling, and the glass looked streaked with grime, with the corners still black with dust, like Mr. Wales had tried cleaning them. The frames, like the rest of the house, were neglected and forgotten, having not seen the light of day since the end of the war; but there must have been magic in the chemicals used to develop the photos. The black and white pictures inside were still pristine and clear.

In one, a small boy faced against a younger Wales with wooden swords. The wizard photo moved, the contours of their bodies blurred as they danced and their swords clashed. Then, Wales threw his head back in laughter as a teenaged girl jumped into the frame and tackled the small boy from behind, and brought him to the ground.  
In another, Mr. Scotland and the young boy smiled at the camera in the tilted frame, like the boy had tried taking a selfie with the analogue camera. Mr. Scotland was holding the boy close, their checks pressed against each other's with his hands pulling the boy's mouth up to his squinted eyes in a smile.  
In the last, a toddler sat in England's lap. Amelia recognised the toddler as the teen girl from the first photo. England was braiding flowers into the toddler's hair while flying mint bunny balanced on her head. Her cheeks were inflated like balloons as she tried to blow the fluff off a dandelion. Amelia traced the young girl's hair, expecting to feel smooth, wavy locks. But her fingertips were left cold and dirty. She smiled anyway.

The Stewards. Like the Waverly's, they were an old and ancient wizarding family, and served the Kirkland's loyally like a knight would serve a King. She looked at the small boy in the photos, the infamous agent Steward, after whom the Steward Challenge was named. She remembered Uncle Oliver always called him a little troublemaker. Her eyes met his, and they both smiled.

"You miss them too, don't you?" Wales called from behind her.

She gasped and set the photo back down on the piano. "You startled me, sir."

Wales chuckled lightly and muttered an apology, then he turned to the wall and gazed at the photos wistfully. "I can't believe we got this place just so he could be closer to Hogwarts." Wales mused. His eyes rested on a photo of a little boy, with a big toothy smile, showing off his Slytherin robes. He tore his eyes away and focused his vision on Amelia. "Anyway, I thought you would like to have this back." He held a small jewellery box in his hands and passed it to Amelia.

"My watch!" Amelia cried as she lifted the top off the box, and found the timepiece resting inside soft velvet. She took off her borrowed watch and set it on the piano cover. The newly repaired stainless-steel watch was sleek but surprisingly light in her hand. Its LCD screen lit up when she strapped it to her wrist, crisp and acid green numbers displayed the time: a few hours and minutes off. It adjusted smooth and silently, unlike the spare, where gears were always turning. There wasn't even an electric hum, though that would probably be better for her mission. Neville might have gotten suspicious if his new cat ticked or buzzed.  
"Thank you Unc-Mr. Wales, sir." She said brightly, as she admired her modern tech watch. She replaced the old spare watch carefully on the velvet cushion in the box. "I'm sure Mr. England would like his old watch back, now." She smiled and handed the treasured family heirloom back to Wales.

He scoffed and laughed to himself, as if the notion of England getting his watch back was absurd, but he put the small box carefully in his pocket anyway. "Right, well let's clear this away and set the table to eat, shall we?" Wales said as he started gather loose papers into their folders and cleared a pair of spaces for them to eat. Amelia nodded and fetched plates and cutlery.

After eating their fill of spaghetti dinner, the two privates were diligently back to work. Amelia sat at the type-writer, finishing her report. When she typed the final letter and the machine stamped in the last full stop, she took the paper out and set it neatly into a folder. She loaded the writer with paper again, and typed:

 _Report is in._ _  
 _Infiltration successful._  
 _Awaiting further instructions.__

Wales and Amelia leaned in closer as they all waited for a reply.

The type-writer started typing on its own. The buttons depressed themselves as they were touched, but Amelia kept her hands folded neatly in her lap. The arm moved across and down the page as her further instructions appeared in black and white. The clicks were fast and precise, but seemed almost alien to Amelia's ears, as she couldn't actually see Det. Bordeaux typing the words.

 _Excellent._ _  
 _Messer and Scotland were successful in their infiltration as well.__

 _Dumbledore is using the Mirror of Erised to protect the Philosopher's Stone. By our request, he's also acquired a Cerberus to guard it._ _  
 _The Cerberus is in the third floor corridor on the right side. Avoid it for now._  
 _Find and test the Mirror's effectiveness. Try to take the Stone from it.__

 _Stay hidden._ _  
 _Good luck.__

"What's the Mirror of Erised?" Amelia asked.

"It belonged to my mother," Wales explained.

"But what does it do?" Laguardia asked.

"If you really want it, I suppose it would show you the Philosopher's Stone." Wales shrugged. "Dumbledore wanted it to protect the Stone for some reason. I don't know how he'd think it would work though. But if Det. Bordeaux wants you to go and test its effectiveness, you should go and do it soon."

Amelia nodded and got out of her seat. She shed the wool robe Wales had given her earlier and morphed back into her Animagus form. He opened a window and allowed Amelia to jump onto the sill.

"Good luck," he called as she pounced down to the street and headed back towards Hogwarts.

If Amelia thought Hogwarts was a navigation nightmare during the day, when sunlight streamed in from the windows and candlelight shone bright in the halls, it was a perplexing labyrinth at night. At least in her feline form, she had night vision, so she need not light a wand or lantern to guide her way. It was better for a stealth route, she didn't need to disturb the sleeping portraits that lined the halls.

She nearly avoided Peeves, who was yelling about students out of bed, and ducked into an unused classroom near the library.

Finally, she'd found it. Desks and chairs were pushed towards the walls to make space for the mirror, where it stood in the middle of the room. It was covered by a simple white sheet, echoes of the intricate carvings in the wooden frame shone through the fabric. Amelia took a corner of the sheet in her mouth and pulled. The sheet fluttered off the frame and landed softly around her. She had to dig herself out of the fabric and folds, like digging out of a mound of snow. She could see herself in the mirror, a cream coloured cat with a dark fur collar stared back at her.

"Show me the Philosopher's Stone!" she mewed, but her reflection just stared back at her. Pouting, she pawed at her wrist, where a shadow of her watch lay, underneath her fur and flesh.

"I found the Mirror, Mr. Wales, but nothing is happening." She reported.

"Try looking at it in your human form." She heard Wales whisper in her ear. She took a breath as she complied.

When she looked at the mirror again, she gasped and jumped back in shock, afraid her cover had been blown.

She turned to look behind her, but she was still alone. There was still nothing in the room except the dust bunnies between the rows of desks and chairs.

She slowly turned back towards the mirror, where her human reflection was surrounded by other bodies.

"Pte. Jones, what happened? Pte. Jones, report." Wales ordered, but Amelia was paying much more attention to the lips of the woman at her side, mouthing a 'hello'. Then she understood what she was seeing.

There were four people surrounding her glass reflection. They were smiling at her, waving at her, touching her. They looked like they had aged some years, but she knew who they were. Two pairs of brothers and sisters: the two blond Stewards, and the chestnut haired Waverlys. She'd recognise that crooked smile anywhere, where his lips lifted a bit more to the left because his eye squinted where the damaged skin was pulled towards his ear. He moved and slid his hand into hers, like a phantom, she thought she felt him holding her. But of course, it was just an illusion; he smiled at her anyway, just happy to see her. She saw as one of the figures in the glass moved her hand to rub Amelia's shoulder comfortingly. Her dark eyes were warmer than Will Waverly's.

She clenched her fists and crushed her cousins' hands.

She couldn't let the Mirror trick her.

"Show me the Philosopher's Stone!" she commanded. Her breath came out in strangled huffs. "I want the Philosopher's Stone!"

"Pte. Jones! Report! What's happening?"

"You hear that, Mrs. Norris? Maybe they went this way." Amelia heard Mr. Filch down the hall. She could see a pool of light spill into the room though a crack she'd left in the door.

When Filch peeked into the unused classroom to look for the first years out of bed, he'd found he ran into a dead end again. Nothing but Professor Dumbledore's strange mirror in the empty room. The sheet was pooled around the foot of the Mirror, and he figured the open window had let in a draft. He peered out the window but snorted, the kids weren't here and they couldn't escape through the window, they were three floors up.

"Come along Mrs. Norris, they're not here either." He sighed as he closed the window and left the room.

Amelia was back in her feline form, digging her claws into some vines that trailed up the castle walls. When she saw the light of Filch's lantern leave the window, she let out a sigh of relief and made her way back down to the ground. She sat there in the cool grass for a while, catching her breath.

 _The Mirror must be cursed_ , she thought, _if that what it shown in its reflection_.

She nodded and kept her findings filed in the back of her mind, she just had to write up a report of what she'd seen. Arduously, she lifted herself out of the grass and sprinted back to Hogsmeade. The cool air rushing through her fur helped clear her mind, and chase away the tears in her stinging eyes.

* * *

Det. Bordeaux sat in her office, late at night. She was sitting at the the secretary desk by the wall, waiting for a new report from the type-writer. She and Cmdr. Waverly had gotten a page from Wales a few minutes ago, informing them Amelia had returned from her mission and was ready to give a preliminary report.

Waverly lounged in the leather armchair in front of her main desk, a report on vampire numbers in the American Northwest in his hands, and a muggle news website on the computer screen in front of him. "I could use a beer, it's so late." He teased.

"I have tea. That's all you'll be getting." She said through a net of crossed fingers. She bewitched a bone China teapot to heat up again and refill the teacup in Waverly's hand. She hardly moved a muscle, the teapot only needed to follow her eyes.

The steam floated around Waverly's tired eyes as he brought the cool cup to his lips and the warm tea spilled down his throat. He laughed to himself at the flowery, almost candy-like flavour of the tea. "What's with you and these fruity teas, might as well warm up a pot of Kool-Aid at this point."

"Tch," was Bordeaux's only reply, then the sound of the type-writer filled the empty room once again.

 _Unable to acquire the Stone. The Mirror seems an effective enough measure to guard it._

 _It must scare off any potential thieves or waste their time until they get caught._

 _Do not worry, I did not get caught._

 _Awaiting reply._

Bordeaux unknit her fingers and began typing,

 **Good job.**

 **That's all I need for today.**

 **No further instructions.**

She smiled and got up to start putting her reports away so she could retire for the night.

From the other side, Amelia began typing another message.

 _May I speak to Commandant Waverly in private, please?_

Bordeaux raised an eyebrow at the request, and called Waverly to the smaller desk. He glanced at Amelia's last correspondence and chuckled. **Business or Pleasure?** Bordeaux typed.

 _It's personal._ Came the reply.

"May I?" Waverly asked.

"Make it quick, Will." Bordeaux said as she got up to leave the room. Waverly stopped her, only to push the vampire report to her chest. Waverly smirked, and Bordeaux simply rolled her eyes as she closed the door behind her. He sat down in the chair and repositioned the type-writer in front of him.

He read Amelia's words and thought of a reply that seemed appropriate.

 **Okay Amelia, Margeaux is gone** _._ He typed, using their names so casually might make the person on the other side feel more at ease.

 **Load a new piece of paper** he quickly typed, **off the record.**

He heeded his own advice and wound a new piece of paper into the type-writer. He'd hoped Amelia had done the same by now.

 _Alright_ she started.

 _I'd just like to tell you what I saw in the Mirror tonight._

Waverly sat back in his seat and stroked the short hairs on his jaw. This really was personal. **You don't have to, Amelia.**

 _I want to._ The words came quick and fast.

 _I just need someone to talk to about this before I put it in some sanitised and official report._ The words came a bit slower this time, like she'd been contemplating how to explain this breech of professionalism. _Please, Will? Is that alright?_

 **Of course, Amelia, we're family. You can confide in me.** He typed. He smiled. After all their family had been through, he was grateful that Amelia still got through it all.

 _I think the Mirror shows potential thieves something to scare them off. It showed me a bunch of people I know to be dead._

She's mistaken, he thought. Then was hit with realization of what she had actually seen that night.

 _I saw your brother and sister, Will._ She continued. Each click of the type writer came slow. The quiet of the room amplified the loud clicks of it all, as he saw the letters get stamped into the paper, as the words slowly formed.

 _I saw Whitney and Walter._

 _And I saw Alice and Howard._

 _It looked liked they'd aged._

 _Like we did, as if they were still alive. But I know the Mirror must be cursed._

 _It just left me shook is all._

A long silence followed. Waverly sat quietly in Margeaux's chair, and wondered what Amelia must be doing. He was awkwardly fiddling with his watch and licking his lips, trying to relieve his dry throat. His teacup was empty. He wondered for a second if perhaps this was her way of getting comfort from him. But he remembered who her uncle was, she was strong and things like these could bounce off her like water rolled off a duck. She'd be fine.

 _I miss them._ She sent another message.

 **I miss them too.** Finally came Waverly's reply.

Another period of silence stretched between them before Amelia started typing again.

 _Thanks for listening Will, I'll have the finished report for you done in the morning._

 **No, just get some sleep now.** He punched into the type-writer. **You can get it done for me tomorrow night, you accomplished a lot today.**

 **Just rest for now.**

He finished.

 _Thanks Will. Goodnight._

 **Goodnight, Amelia.**

With that, he unloaded the paper and sent it through the shredder. He closed up Det. Bordeaux's secretary desk and locked it for the night. He set the empty teacup upside-down on a brass tray for a house elf to fetch later. With everything tidied up, he left the room.

"What did Pte. Jones want to talk about?" Margeaux asked, as she leaned coolly on the wall across the hall from her office door, her arms crossed, a briefcase by her feet.

"It's personal. You'll find out in the final report." Waverly said as they made their way through the quiet headquarters to the atrium where there were fireplaces connected to the other headquarters around the world. The click of Bordeaux's heels and the tap of Waverly's cane echoed through the empty halls, most Atlases had already gone home.

"She saw your siblings, didn't she?" Bordeaux guessed.

Waverly groaned. "The Stewards too." He stopped at the mantle of one of the fireplaces to find the embers cold. With a wave of his hand and a spell whispered under his breath, the flames roared back to life. A small pouch of Floo powder sat at the top of the mantle, and Bordeaux grabbed it. She tossed it in her hand, testing its weight.

"I wonder if I'd see them too, if I looked in that mirror." She mused.

"Really, now?" Waverly asked.

"Either that, or me surrounded by money." She admitted with a sly grin. She took a pinch of the Floo powder and passed the pouch to Waverly who laughed at Bordeaux's fantasies. Then she took her Floo powder and threw it into the fire. The flames turned from their red hot tongues to cool green, slowly licking at their feet. "But it would be more appealing if it came true, wouldn't it? Being surrounded by gold and jewels instead of four friendly ghosts." She read the expression on his face. "Sorry, Will. Bless their souls. Well, good night, Commander." With a final salute, she called on her apartment near the French Hetalia Headquarters, and disappeared into the fireplace. When she had gone, the flames returned to a warm orange glow.

Waverly was finally left alone. He tucked his cane under his elbow and leaned against the mantle to run his fingers through the sparkling and soft powder. It reminded him of sand, like on the beaches of Scotland, where his family would go on vacation. Before the war of course. As he gathered the shimmering sand between his fingers he wondered with guilt, if any of his old Spartan team would know if they wouldn't truly be seeing four ghosts in that cursed mirror.

It would only really be three.


	13. 1-8 The Man Behind the Curtain

1.6

Dumbledore sat in his office, pondering the events of the night before.

Filch had reported that a couple students were going to have a duel, but they were thwarted by his brave efforts. Dumbledore paid this no mind, a couple trouble making students were of no concern to him. What was really picking at his brain was the fact someone had found the Mirror of Erised.

Filch didn't tell him this.

The school did.

Sometimes he felt as if the ancient castle were alive; not just in the souls of the students and professors that lived there. It might have started as an unsettling feeling, like a wraith that crept behind a young student and made the hair on the back of their neck stand on end, or an echo of a rumour that spread like a plague through the portraits on the walls. Dumbledore wasn't exactly sure what was wrong, but he knew there was trouble hiding within Hogwarts' halls.

He didn't know if the interloper's intentions were pure or not, but he felt he could use this intrusion to his advantage.

The opportunity came to him in the form of a letter.

One of the Ministry Owls had brought him a letter. A letter enclosed in an envelope sealed with glue. The red wax stamp of the Ministry of Magic seemed like a mere decoration. He cut the envelope with a flick of his wand, and the neatly folded letter fluttered out.

The letter was printed on a plain sheet of paper instead of a piece of parchment. It was smooth against his fingers, the machine pressed wood fibres lacked the natural tooth of a real parchment skin. The words were printed; they looked robotic as they marched across the page in straight and sanitized lines. They were completely void of the humanity and elegance of a carefully handwritten note. The paper, the ink, even its damn smell, everything about the letter seemed artificial. Of course it had Alistair Kirkland written all over it.

Dumbledore knew the man was more fond of these Muggle inventions like type-writers and computers these days, but he was not particularly fond of Alistair himself, nor his methods. Especially now, that he had allied himself with the Ministry of Magic once again. The way he and his family had swooped in and snatched Harry Potter away from the Dursleys all those years ago was possibly one of the greatest offences Alistair had committed towards Dumbledore.

Now he was sticking his nose into business he shouldn't be peering into, once again.

 _Dear Albus Dumbledore,_

 _It has come to my understanding that you had aquired an additional measure to protect the Stone, alongside my family's mirror. But taking into account the value and importance of such an object, I must encourage you to increase the security around the Stone once again. Please consider as well, the safety of the students when deciding how you intend to increase its security and what you will use._

 _I will be sure to approve any measure you see fit, and support your decisions should the Minister develop cold feet._

 _Thank you for your consideration,_

 _Alistair Kirkland_

His signature occupied a line printed at the bottom of the page; made of a single looping and twisting line, turning over and contorting itself to form the shape of the name that would burn Dumbledore's tongue when spoken. It was the only evidence of a human the old wizard could see on the page.

He felt he could burn holes through the paper. The audacity of it all, that the Ministry doubted his abilities in ensuring the security of the Stone.

Dumbledore had harboured suspicions for the former Charms teacher, turned Death Eater, turned Minister's assistant and advocate for Muggleborn and half-breed rights for years now. He was sure Alistair must have been hiding something, that he knew more about the Stone's security than he let on. Without a doubt, whoever was intruding on Hogwarts' hallowed grounds was working for Alistair and the Ministry.

But Dumbledore decided he'd play along with the Ministry, for now.

If the Minister of Magic and Alistair Kirkland wanted more security around the Stone, why would Dumbledore ever let them down? It would prove an effective way to test the young Harry Potter as well; to see whether he could live up to the destiny that lay ahead of him.

A mischievous glimmer grew in his eye as he thought of a response to Alistair. He lit a red candle on his desk, its feeble flame already started to melt a pool of wax. Then he cut a square of parchment, the texture ever familiar and comforting, and set a quill to it. With a graceful and steady hand, he fullfilled the Ministry's hopes on paper. Of course he would be happy to oblige and yes, the Stone's security will occupy a great priority. The ink ran smooth in swooping, linked letters, and feined sincerity.

At the bottom, he signed the letter with his full name. The ink was black as night against the creamy parchment, as it should be.

He couldn't help but smile as he set another plan in motion.

When the ink dried, he carefully folded the letter into thirds. With another piece of parchment, he wrapped it all by folding in the corners and dripped the candle where the corners met. The melted wax pooled at the center, like blood, and just as it started to cool, he stamped it with with the Hogwarts seal. He pressed the stamp into the red wax, and gently rolled it. When he removed the stamp, the wax was hardened, the crest of Hogwarts perfectly embossed on the parchment.

He sent Fawkes on his merry way to deliver the letter, his eyes twinkled as he thought of what Professor Sprout or Flitwick could come up with.

* * *

And so, after a few more weeks of exchanges, Scotland had recieved yet another letter from Professor Dumbledore. Romano was visiting his office in the Ministry of Magic for the team's field report, but Professor Dumbledore's phoenix had arrived before the Commandant did.

"More magical killer traps!" Scotland cried when he'd read through the letter from his former boss, asking him and the Ministry for advice on whether he thought a Devil's Snare or an army of Mandrakes would serve as a better line of defense for the Stone. "You know this was a wonderful idea!"

"Okay, sounds like the old bastard might be having too much fun with this." Romano laughed as Fawkes pecked playfully at Scotland's hand. He remembered how just last week they'd received a letter advising the Ministry they were planning to use a few dragons to protect the Stone. The Groundskeeper Hagrid had already somehow acquired 5 dragons eggs to do the job. Even England had to pitch in to help negotiate it down to a single troll. Thankfully, the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures were able to take all the eggs without reprimanding the school. (Romano couldn't figure out the paperwork if the school had 5 or 6 eggs though, the handwriting was atrocious. Why couldn't wizards upgrade already?!)

"More magical killer traps, really, Mr. Lovino," Scotland snapped, "what could possibly go wrong?" He turned to the bird who waited patiently at corner of his desk, his golden head tilted to the side, like he was studying the nation. "I'll send an owl later, you can go back now." The bird paced along his desk and threatened to set the pieces of paper and parchment alight. Scotland scrambled out of his chair, ready to shoo the flaming bird away and save his paperwork, but Fawkes had already disappeared in a spectacular burning light. Scotland sighed as he flicked some stray tongues of flame away from the stationary and paperweights he kept on his desk.

"I dun't care what anyone says, I think that bird is more work than it's worth." Scotland said.

"That's just because Fawkes doesn't like you," Romano mocked, "you must admit, it's quite stylish."

Scotland opened his mouth for a tasteful retort but was interupted by a knock at the office door. Scotland called for whoever was out there to just come in. It wasn't some Atlas lackey. The door opened to reveal Commandant Waverly himself; his right hand was raised in a salute and his chin held high, in a sign of respect to the Nations. While he leaned on his cane, he reached into a messenger bag and retrieved a dossier. He thought his uncle would want to check up on him personally, which was why he was requested to deliver the reports and not one of his secretaries. But the resolve in his poker face began to chip away when he saw Romano was in the room too. He didn't exactly like where this was going. He straightened his back and cleared his throat.

"I have the month's report for the Philosopher's Stone mission here," he said as he limped towards the two nations. He held up the dossier and placed it on Scotland's desk. Scotland nodded and thanked him. "If that's all you need, I'll be on my way," he pivoted on his cane and was set to leave.

"Wait, Commandant." Romano called after him. Waverly froze with his hand on the door knob. He slowly turned back to face them.

"I have some concerns over the new 'Lionhearts' Team, they are an integral part of this mission, after all." Romano said.

Waverly took a deep breath and defended his team, "I can assure you, the team are performing at their best, Privates Jones and Messer have infiltrated successfully and they're providing us with valuable-"

"I'm actually concerned over their esteemed _Captain._ " Romano stressed.

Waverly nervously shifted his weight on his cane. He struggled not to let himself frown. He couldn't show his distress. Scotland simply rested his chin in his knitted fingers and let out a quiet, dispirited sigh. He might be Waverly's 'Uncle', but SPARTN was under Romano's jurisdiction: Romano was the boss here.

"I've noticed Captain Song's performance has slipped recently, since being promoted to his own team." Romano said, concerned.

"Romano, I'm sure he's just getting used to his new responsiblities." Scotland reasoned.

Waverly perked up and jumped at the chance. "He has admitted that to me, Sir. But nothing a few training seminars won't fix, I have already talked to him about that, and I'll instruct Lieutenant Volkova to take on some more responsibility." Waverly suggested.

A smirk ran across Romano's face.

"That's a solution to Captain Song's problem, but what about yours?" He quipped, he held up a small notebook. Waverly's grip tightened on his cane. Anything to supress and hide the wave of anger that ran through him like a bolt of lightning.

"Your physiotherapist reports your leg is causing you pain again."

"Whatever happened doctor-patient confidentiality?" Waverly snapped.

"Is that how you address a Nation?" Romano warned.

Waverly paused. "It's just a recent development, I'm dealing with it." He breathed.

"Sure doesnt seem like it to me. You've been limping more than usual and you showed up to a mission briefing hungover." Romano said, no sense of tact in his voice. "Pull yourself together, you limey bastard." Romano scolded and he approached the middle aged wizard.

"That's enough, Romano." Scotland warned. "The Waverly family is my responsibility and I've already disciplined him. Are you just about done?"

Romano paused and studied the Commandant. If Waverly had been just another new blood, or even completely human, he would have felt like an ant under the scrutinizing gaze of a god; but he'd lived with this feeling his whole life. Whatever Romano had for him, it wasn't anything completely new.

"Your _valued_ team is very integral to this operation. Can I trust you to perform at the top of your game?" Romano asked, with no hint of warmth from that Tuscan sun in his voice.

"You have my word. They will protect the Stone." Waverly replied just as coldly. As strong and steady as the magic stones that dotted his land.

Seemingly satisfied with his answer, Romano tipped his head back, as if he was about to laugh. But he simply turned to Scotland and said "You'd better keep these ones in line for me, you fucking idiot." He scoffed.

"Thank you, Romano, there's the door." Scotland pointed.

Waverly stepped aside to let Romano leave.

Romano opened the door but stopped in the middle of the doorway to lean into Waverly's ear, "If you keep this up, I think it'd be best for you to step down." Romano added slyly, quiet enough Scotland wouldn't hear. Then he left, and the door closed loudly behind him, leaving Scotland and Waverly alone.

Waverly stood there in the middle of Scotland's office, frozen, listening for Romano's footsteps to finally fade away. He let out a tired groan when he was sure Romano had left.

"He's such a pain!"

"Don't say that, it could be taken as insubordination." Scotland joked.

Waverly scoffed, "I thought you said he was always a lazy son of a-"

"That was when he was still a _Nation."_ Scotland finished, "but times have changed. Now we have Bosses breathing down our necks again, and they might not be able to control _you_ , but they can knock you down a few pegs."

Waverly shifted his weight on his cane, "but does he have to be such an ass about it?"

"Romano is the Head of Spartan. Whatever happens can reflect on him. He's at the mercy of the Bosses too." Scotland sighed, his face twisted in that old memory, "And I think being the Head of Spartan would be better than the alternative."

 _Being human,_ Waverly finished in his head. He felt awkward, if only for a split second. He shrugged it off and turned to leave, "Well I still have a mountain of work to do..."

"Wait." Scotland called.

Waverly groaned as his hand was stayed once again on the door handle.

"What?" He hissed.

"Is your leg really hurting you?" Scotland asked, concern marring his face, revealing a warmth the likes of which only the colonies have seen.

"It's not that bad. Really. It's just stress." Waverly sighed. "It's a human condition, I'm dealing with it."

The corner of Scotland's mouth pulled up in a smirk. "Fine. Just don't deal with the pain by drinking. You know England's blood runs strong in you." He said, his lips broke into a teasing smile. He reached into a drawer and his desk and offered Waverly a pack of Marlboros.

Waverly's hand brushed on Scotland's calloused fingers as he reached for the pack. He flipped the pack open and counted the cigarettes. Two were missing. "Are _you_ feeling any pain?" He asked, almost absent mindedly.

"It's nothing to worry about lad," Scotland brushed Waverly off. "It's just what comes with carrying a million people on your shoulders who don't always get along."

Waverly hung his shoulders, but nodded to show he understood. He looked down at the pack in his hands, already worn from being stuffed in Scotland's pocket.

"But Will." Scotland called out, bringing Waverly's attention back to himself, "tell me right away if anything else bothers you." He pointed to Will's bad leg. "If it gets any worse, it might mean something's wrong in Britian."

"Of course," Will nodded.

"Dismissed, soldier, " Scotland waved him off. Waverly saluted Scotland and made an about face to leave.

Just outside the Ministry of Magic building, Waverly sat on the patio of a small muggle cafe. He had a small table to himself, with his cane leaning on the empty seat in front of him. He looked over reports on his laptop while a slowly cooling cup of tea and a half eaten muffin lay forgotten in favour of dragging on one of Scotland's cigarettes. The cafe was just in front of an alleyway that would look to Muggles like a dark and dirty back road where garbage trucks would drive through picking up dumpsters.

Though when he looked down the way, all he saw was an empty street, except for a single red telephone booth. The buildings behind him were also mostly uninhabited. Save for the first floors, that were filled with washrooms that served as more entrances to the Ministry of Magic that was hidden underground, the whole block was nothing more than hollow husks. Waverly thought the buildings could serve as a base for Hetalia operations, or the Department of Muggle Relations. But so long as the International Statute of Wizarding Secrecy stood, Hetalia would be the only organization where Muggles and Wizardkind could work together.

Waverly looked up to see balconies complete with small chairs and tables along the buildings' walls. It'd be a much nicer place to smoke, but they just added to the facade. Who were they trying to fool? The whole block was enchanted with anti-Muggle charms, turned away by the prospect of smelly garbage, even the smoke he puffed or the ashes that fell from the balconies would be hidden from Muggle eyes.

"Answer your phone once in a while, would you, Cmdt. Waverly?" A voice called to him, interrupting his thoughts. The woman bent over the patio's fence to scold him, a look of annoyance rather than anger adorned her face.

"Hello, Lieut. Volkova." He greeted and waved her over to him. As she walked around to the gate, he quickly checked his phone; there was barely a signal, probably because he was so close to the Ministry building.

"I have been looking everywhere for you." She said when she approached him.

"Well you found me." He said without even looking up from the screen. She moved his cane to lean against the table and took the vacant seat across from him. She leaned back in her chair, relaxed, with seemingly no regard to proper etiquette and protocol. She twirled a loose strand of silvery hair that escaped from her braid as she counted the spent cigarette butts in the ash tray between them. Most of them were still smoking. "So, how did the meeting go?"

Waverly took a drag from the last bits of his cigarette and stamped the butt out in the ashtray. He ignored her, and focused instead on some reports of strange magical disturbances that had happened around Albania.

Volkova rested a cheek on her knuckles and sighed, "Will..."

"It was fine." Waverly said flatly, "Mr. Kirkland and Mr. Vargas commemorate you and your Privates for their work in the mission so far."

"So it went well." Volkova said cheerfully. She picked at his muffin and popped the little morsel in her mouth. Waverly gave her a slight glance over his laptop screen and left the rest unsaid. "You do know, those things will kill you." She sighed, she gestured to the ash tray.

Waverly gave her a small laugh and took the cigarette pack to offer her. She automatically refused. Waverly took a single cigarette out for himself and lit it with a snap of his fingers and a low whisper of " _Incendio_ ". He took a puff of the cigarette and savoured the taste of another hit of tobacco. "You know, I'm build a bit stronger than that." He teased, rivulets of smoke escaped his lips. He attempted to blow smoke rings high over her head, but they dissolved too easily in the afternoon air.

Volkova waved the wisps of smoke away and held her nose. "Da, Kirkland bloodline and all that." She fiddled with a small plastic menu stand advertising a dessert special that stood on table. "But it does all but jack sheet for your alcohol tolerance." She quipped as she twirled the plastic stand around. It clattered loudly as it fell. The sound grated on Waverly's ears.

He winced at the comment and tapped some ash into the tray. It seemed Volkova had struck a nerve, she pressed on. "What, is that why you were called to that meeting?"

"I'm not exactly in the mood." His eyes were fixed on the screen but they kept reading the same few lines over and over. He drew another puff from the cigarette in an attempt to take his edge off. "Don't you owe me some reports, Lieutenant?"

"Oh, you can always rely on me, Commandant. The security reports of the last few meetings, da, I will get them to you by the end of the day." She smiled sweetly at him. This time he returned the smile and let smoke escape through his lips. "But, ah. I came to find you so I could ask you a few questions. Something has piqued my interest lately and I think you can help me out."

Waverly quickly saved whatever work he had going on and took another hit of his cigarette. "Okay, shoot." He breathed smoke lazily away from them and adopted a similar reclined pose in his own chair.

"So that esteemed Kirkland blood in your veins is what makes you our great commander..." Volkova said in a low voice.

"I think my performance in the field and my skill as a tactician helps too." Waverly interrupted.

"Details, details." She brushed the joke off and took another piece of his muffin for herself. "But it has gotten you out of some life and death situations. Saves us some health potions and saves you down time in infrimaries at the very least."

"That's right, but you've got some Braginski blood too, don't you?"

"So I had a grandfather from the 17th century. That doesn't really give me much to work with." She shrugged. "You had a grandmother from the early 1900's."

"Yes," Waverly confirmed, his shrugged shoulders mimicking her own, "do you have a point to get to?"

"Right, so whatever Kirkland blood you have would have helped your cousin too." She let the last three words trail off slowly and lifted her wrist to show off her watch.

Waverly lept up from his chair and grabbed her wrist, pulling the watch closer for inspection. His cane clattered loudly to the floor and his cigarette fell abandoned on the table. The hands marked with the initials of the Dragons and her former teammates were scattered round the watchface. From here he could see her Privates were busy at their missions, while the other captains and the detective were at headquarters. A hand marked AS was alone at lost, but the one marked HS was at Home.

"You're supposed to report any malfunctioning gear to your commanding officer or a Nation." He said, as he pushed the offending watch away. "Must be the Muggle tech interfering with the enchantment," he deduced, "take it to Mr. Lithuania to repair it." He sat back down in his chair, resolved to fix his attention to his computer, no longer entertaining Volkova's fantasies.

She picked up his cane and dusted it off, then offered it to him.

"We need to talk, Cmdt Waverly."

He groaned and snapped his laptop closed, and slid it back into its case. Retrieving his cane from Volkova's hand, he got up and left a tip for the wait staff. "It's not safe to talk here. I'll meet you at the Leaky Cauldron." Somewhere where their voices would be drowned out by other conversations, and be safe from both Muggles and Nations. Volkova nodded and got up from the table, but not before snatching the rest of the muffin, too quick for Waverly. She gave him a small salute and walked towards the alley to the Ministry. He heard the tell-tale CRACK of apparition, then a Muggle nearby complain about an engine backfiring.

He took a few more last drags on his cigarette before crushing it aggressively into the ashtray. Volkova's watch was wrong, he kept telling himself. Volkova's watch was wrong and he'd have to reprimand her for wasting time.

He soon followed her lead into the alleyway. The stamp of his cane followed after his own footfalls. With a CRACK, his next step took him in front of the Leaky Cauldron.

Waverly opened the door to find the pub still bustling with the lunch hour, and peering through the crowd, he met Volkova's eyes.

He bought a butter beer from Tom and stormed over to Volkova as fast as his limping legs could allow and plopped into the booth across from her.

"Okay, first thing's first, why do you even have those extra hands?" Waverly accused. He slammed the butter beer so hard on the table some of that sweet golden liquor sloshed onto the table.

"Nostalgia." Volkova said sweetly, gazing at her own reflection in the watch's glass as the hands of her new and old teams raced around the face. "There is no rule against that."

"But there is a rule for maintenance. Malfunctioning gear can hinder your performance." He said through gritted teeth, as if his subordinates performing at less than their best was what he really needed right now.

"It was broken before." Volkova explained, "they were not moving at all so I took it to Mrs. Belarus to fix."

"No," Waverly stammered, thinking of excuses in rapid fire. "Something must be wrong it can't-"

"You lied to us." Volkova said flatly.

"What?"

"You lied to your whole team."

The words hung in the air, their sting hurt, even under the busy noise of the pub.

"You're crossing a line, Lieutenant." Waverly warned when he regained his bearings.

"I want to talk to you as Will, not the Commandant. I want to know what really happened to our friend." She pleaded.

"It's in the reports." He replied as a cold denial.

"Da, you and the reports say Agent Steward died from his injuries sustained during the war. But that official report did not come out until, what, a couple weeks after it happened? Bordeaux told me, Xiaolong and Margeaux that he was finally consumed by his obscurus. Was that the cover up you and the higher ups were going to roll with before they got the story straight?"

Waverly chewed on his lip.

"Does Veronica know? Who told Amelia?"

"Veronica's read the reports. And I told Amelia. She was only 15. If anyone told her anything else it would've broken her heart. We all knew he was frail as a child, I told her he died of pneumonia." he said quietly.

"But he never actually _died._ " She said, pointing to her watch. The facts surrounded the Waverly's cousin's sudden death, which she remarked as strange but infallible, were now marred with uncertainty as the hand moved around the watch face. "Did you know about this?"

Waverly glanced at the watch from across the table. The hand marked HS inched away from Home and settled onto Transit.

"Yes," he answered after a strained silence between them. Volkova's face twisted in utter disgust as she strained to hold back tears. She wanted to slap him, but doing so would almost be a crime. She screwed her eyes shut and reveled in the din of the pub, and let the noise swallow her up. She looked back at Waverly, vision clear and composition calmer. With deep breath she asked her commander, "Why did you not tell us the truth?"

"Orders from on high." He said with a slow, sorry breath. Volkova's face twisted again, this time marred with shock and disbelief. It was a Nation that kept her away from the truth.

"So who else knows?" Waverly asked to snap her back to him.

"Just you now." She groaned. Through barely parted lips she asked, "You were there that night, what happened?"

Waverly sighed and leaned back in his seat, pinching bridge of his nose. He took a big gulp of his butter beer then a deep breath before continuing. He returned to lean across the table and spoke to the lieutenant in hushed tones that were surely drowned out by the rest of the of the pub. "I don't know what happened that night." He resigned. It all happened too fast. When he finally came to, his back was broken and his cousin, the former Agent Steward, was gone. He remembered an argument between Steward and Mr. Kirkland, an argument that escalated to a fight. One that ended with Steward disappeared and Mr. Kirkland broken down and sobbing.

"I _wasn't_ there." Waverly corrected Volkova. "I was outside the room to guard Mr. Kirkland. But I don't know what happened after they started fighting. I was knocked out."

"What do you know then?"

"Steward...disappeared." He choked back the word 'escaped'. No one left Hetalia without permission. And Mr. Kirkland would never had wanted Steward to leave. "Mr. Kirkland started a manhunt while the other Kirkland brothers filled out the reports. Mr. Kirkland stopped after a while. He just gave up." Waverly breathed. "He was always presumed dead, at least to everyone else..."

"Will, our best friend, he is alive! Do you want to know where he is now? What kind of life he is living? If he is even safe?"

Volkova rattled, straining her excited voice to be quiet.

"This is above my clearance." Waverly said. What did she expect him to do? Go knocking on the Kirkland brothers' doors and ask why the reports they filled out were wrong?

"How can this be above you?" Volkova asked. "You are the commander! He was your cousin!"

"He was also Oliver Kirkland's son." Waverly said with finality, the words quickly swallowed up by the bustle around them, but the implication of the sentence was that it was impossible to get to the bottom of this. "Orders from on high." he repeated. "Don't you see? Even if he is somewhere out there, what do you think we can do about it? This is clearly a matter between the Kirkland brothers and them alone."

"But do you not want to know where your cousin is?"

Waverly stewed and stared into his butter beer as if he could divine an answer from it. But he knew the butter beer wouldn't help, only the watch around Valka's wrist. "Yes. A million times yes."

"But you can not do anything."

"Orders from on high." Waverly sighed tiredly.

Volkova let out an exasperated sigh, crossed her arms and collapsed into booth's cushioned seat. "You are really not going to do anything?"

Waverly sighed and leafed his fingers through his hair. Through sips of his butter beer he told the lieutenant about the meeting, and how couldn't risk stepping out of line right now.

"Please, Valka, just let sleeping dogs lie."

Volkova pouted and sighed. She clenched and unclenched her fists under the table as she took in all that Waverly said. Well she tried though it was all for naught. Finally, she got up from the booth and focused on the charming chaos of the Leaky Cauldron's crowd, instead of meeting Waverly's eyes one last time.

"Maybe Mr. Romano is right," she began speaking in the Language of the Nation's, to make absolutely sure no one would overhear. "Maybe you are just getting tired. I remember you would lead our team to Death Eater dens, you would take out 10, even 20 on your own. You were fearless."

"Lieutenant-"

"No!" She spun back to slam her hands flat against the table, trapping Waverly in the booth. "They wronged your family in the past and you made the Death Eaters pay!" She rasped harshly, "You know Oliver is keeping the truth from us!"

"Those were orders, Lt. Volkova." Waverly replied quietly. "And he ordered me to forget about him."

Volkova let out one last quiet sigh of defeat. "Fine. I will have those reports for you by tonight." She resigned. She turned and finally she left Waverly alone in the booth.

* * *

Later that day, Lieutenant Volkova dropped by the Commandant's office and slapped the reports onto his desk.

"Thank you, Lieutenant Volkova." Waverly said, somewhat annoyed at Volkova's sour attitude and mood.

"The reports you asked for sir," she said robotically. "I will retire for the night now, sir." She said in an unenthusiastic tone before she turned to leave.

"Valka, wait." Waverly called to her before she could exit through the door. "Where's Agent Steward's hand now?"

Sighing, Volkova pulled her sleeve back and glanced at the watchface. The digital numbers that showed the time dissolved to reveal the hands marked with her current and former teams. The hand marked HS was firm at the 'work' position. She wondered what kind of job he'd have now, outside of Hetalia. With his skill set, she figured he might be some sort of mall security guard at best, or a contract killer at worst. "He is at work." She reported flatly.

"Well, we've seen he has a home, and a job." Waverly said hopefully. If Volkova couldn't go out to find her friend, at least she would have the comfort he was getting by, however slight. A small smile creeped onto her lips, and a weak laugh escaped.

"I suppose so, sir." She flashed her teeth at him before she left for the night.

Waverly was getting ready to tuck in for the night too. Wherever his cousin was, he thought he must be pulling some late hours too. Unless of course Steward wasn't somewhere in Europe like he was. Waverly thought back to lunch, where his cousin had supposedly just left his house for work. He knew his cousin was out _somewhere_ in the world, but now he had some sort of method to 'watch' over him in a way, no matter how vague.

When Waverly got home he found himself sifting through his old things in the basement. He'd come across his late brother's old Spartan gear, including his old watch. Slate grey face like his own, enchanted much like Volkova's. Below an analogue watch face with bright white numbers and hands lay his first team's hands, revealed by twisting a gear.

All the hands, save his own and Veronica's should be stuck at 'Lost'. While he and Veronica's hands were at home, the one marked HS was still diligently at work. A sense of longing filled his chest, the same desire to find his old friend had consumed him as well.

A spark went off in his head.

He raced to the fireplace and set it alight. He tossed a pinch of Floo Powder in and hurried through. Waverly hurtled through the Floo until he stumbled into Atlas Headquarters and bumped into someone's legs.

"Forgot something, Cmdt Waverly?" A voice joked.

When he got up to his feet he meet eyes with Mr. Beilschmidt.

"Oh, hi Gramps- I mean, Mr. Prussia," he hastily raised his right hand in a salute. Mr. Beilschmidt shrugged and laughed. Deep laugh lines pulled at his lips, and wrinkles gathered around the corners of his eyes like canyons of buckled earth.

"Relax Commandant," Mr. Beilschmidt said in his relaxed German accent. His silvery hair was thinner now, and he didn't seem as tall as in his old photos or paintings anymore. "It's after hours, you can drop the theatrics, unless you're a stiff like mein bruder." He joked as he pat Waverly's back. "Are you early for your morning shift, or what?"

"I think I'm onto something in a missing person's case. I just need the Inspector's help."

"Ha! Well this is awesome anyway," Mr. Beilschmidt tossed Waverly a set of keys. "At least _I_ don't have to lock up the main building anymore!" He walked off towards the exit, whistling a tune. "Inspector Bordeaux is just downstairs, you know where to find him." He called as he walked out the doors.

Waverly josseled the keys in one hand and readjusted the grip on his cane of the other. "Thanks, Gramps." He muttered to himself as he headed to the elevators down to the lower levels of the building.

One of the lowest levels of the building contained Inspector Bordeaux's office. The floor was a dark maze of servers and supercomputers, meant to keep the Nations' official documents safe and hidden. The inspector's department was dedicated to keeping the Nations' human identities intact. The inspector, of course, knew how to do this best, he'd cracked their code before. Even before his Muggleborn daughter was born, the former hacker (he sometimes prefered mad genius) learned about the magical world and discovered the secret of the Nations and their immortality. He'd even tracked down Mr. France and Mr. Germany. He was well on his way to find Ms. Belgium before Atlas took him in. These days, the inspector spent most of his days trawling through his old hunting grounds, more expansive now with the Internet, misleading conspiracy theorists and alternate historians away from the Nation's secrets, and teaching other Atlases to do the same. Waverly navigated his way through the maze, the narrow passageways between the computer servers; the lights blinked in the corners of his eyes and the electronics hummed quietly in his ears. As he travelled deeper into the center of the floor, the computers' hum and beeping eventually drowned out the clack of his cane on the hard floors and the jingle of keys in his pocket.

Inspector Bordeaux's job was to keep the Nations hidden from the world, no doubt he could find a ghost.

Waverly emerged from the computer maze and found a dimly lit room lined with long tables and computers: they'd usually housed the other members of the department. There was only one worker, who stayed late to play video games as she munched on some Chinese takeout.

The gamer didn't even have to glance back at Waverly, she just pointed to the glass room that housed the inspector's office. With a push of a button on her desk, the gamer unlocked Insp. Bordeaux's door. His voice called out into the dim room. "Good evening, Commandant Waverly"

Waverly walked through the glass doors into the inspector's office. On his desk sat three computer monitors and a small flower pot with an iris in bloom. Scattered between pinned maps and TV screens that displayed various stocks and news channels on the walls were various newspaper clippings in different languages, black and white photos and even Xerox copies of Renaissance portrait paintings. Waverly noticed the photos were remnants of the inspector's previous life: these were photographic evidence of Nations and their apparent immortality. In the photos, some certain choice faces were circled in red Sharpie, and their human names neatly scribbled nearby.

Below a framed picture of a young Detective Bordeaux in Beauxbaton robes was a mattress with thin sheets. It didn't seem the night owl hadn't slept in it in a while.

Waverly glanced at his watch.

"Good _morning,_ Inspector."

A slight expression of suprise dashed across the inspector's face. He glanced at the clock that hung on his glass walls. "So it is," he smiled as a small laugh escaped his lips, his white teeth almost seemed to glow against his dark skin. "What brings you here at this ungodly hour, Commandant? I hope you were able to work out the data I gathered from Albania..."

"Spartan's still working on it, but I came to give you something else." Waverly took his brother's watch and presented it to the inspector.

"This was the late Lieutenant Walter Waverly's watch, correct?" The inspector guessed as he turned the watch over in his hands, admiring the leather work and charms worked into the gears. "Would you like it cleaned?"

"Thank you for the offer, but I was wondering if you could track someone through it." Waverly said. "Do you remember Agent Steward?"

"Oui! How could I forget? Every time a new Spartan pulls that stunt I have to make sure we've Obliviated everyone, muggle and wizard alike. You Spartans might think it's fun but all it does for me is create tons of extra unnecessary work." Bordeaux spat venomously.

Waverly suddenly felt a pang of hurt. It must've shown in his face because only then did the inspector crack a wide smile and nudge his shoulder with his elbow to show the comment was made in jest. " _Mon dieu_ , does everyone upstairs have a stick up their arse? Right, I remember Agent Steward. One of your cousins, a first generation Scottish Lionheart. Talented. Clever. A bit quiet though." He regarded as he recalled memories of the socially awkward young boy. "A lethal asset to Spartan, one of the strongest Lionhearts Hetalia has seen since its creation. I would have loved to work with him some more... but of course we can't have another incident like NYC of '26." He remarked absent mindedly.

Waverly cleared his throat. "Right, well. Look at this." He turned the watch in the Bordeaux's hand so the face was up and twisted a gear to reveal the hands of his former team. As before, most of the hands were stuck at Lost. Veronica's still pinned at home and Waverly himself was shown at Work. The hand marked HS was now at Transit.

The inspector's eyes lit up, and his lips formed into a sly smirk.

"You don't look very surprised." Waverly said.

"Only that it took you this long." Bordeaux teased. His smile widened at Waverly's expression. "Que? Are you going to ask me how long I've known? Don't be so surprised, no matter how hard you Nation families try, you can't hide from me. I am Atlas's eyes." Bordeaux gestured excitedly. "What is it you want me to do exactly?" He held the watch up to inspect it.

"I'm just wondering if there's any way you can find-"

"Of course, of course." Bordeaux insisted even before Waverly finished. "I know Mr. England still has Steward's watch. We can't track him through that, but I think I can figure out what time zone he's in through this." He brought a finger to his lips and thought of different algorithms he could use to solve this enigma.

"You can do that?" Waverly asked, he and Volkova could be just a step closer to finding his cousin.

Bordeaux pursed his lips, "child's play. I'll be able to start scrounging up numbers for you by tomorrow," he quickly checked the time again. "Later today. Give me a few weeks, we'll be able to find this ghost."

Soon, Waverly had left Bordeaux and that one gamer in the basement to sleep. Waverly himself had returned home, beside his wife Veronica. She had to nudge him a couple times to stop him from tossing and turning, but he couldn't seem to fall asleep.

The excited questions about Steward's wellbeing that plagued both him and Volkova were not satisfied even though Insp. Bordeaux was on the case.

Perhaps he was just anxious about what he would find.

* * *

 **AN: As per request, I've drawn up a rough character map to give you guys a sense of who's who, because there's lots of OCs...**

 **you can find it at my Deviantart, 'theblackwonderland' or here:** **theblackwonderland. deviantart art / Character-Map-703760320**

 **(remove extra spaces)**


	14. 1-9 a: Halloween

Amelia was busy making her rounds around Hogwarts castle when she came upon a small commotion around the girl's washroom. A few first year Gryffindor girls were gathered round the door. One of the girls had just come out, shaking her head in defeat. One of the Gryffindors, Parvati didn't seem to take this as an acceptable answer and rushed into the washroom. "Come on Hermione, don't worry about those guys, let's just go to the feast! The ghosts are going to put on a show, you don't want to miss that do you?!" Amelia heard her plead, but to no avail. Hermione snapped for them to leave her alone and the girls hesitantly left for the Great Hall.

Amelia saw her chance and made her way to the girl's washroom. Immediately, she heard crying and sniffling. At least Hermione was too loud to hear her, but Amelia hoped she wasn't ruining her own robes with tears and snot. Amelia dashed into another stall and morphed back into human form. She transfigured her beige tank top and shorts to Hufflepuff robes. She stretched the fabric to its limits until the dark sleeves went to her wrists, and a yellow and black tie wound around her neck. She couldn't do much about shoes, though she hoped the robes were long enough to cover her bare feet. She stepped out of her stall, where the door creaked and Hermione heard the groan over her sobs.

"I said I want to be alone, Pavarti!" Hermione scolded.

"And I say trick or treat!" Amelia replied, in a convincing Irish accent, which she must've picked up from hanging around her Uncle Patrick.

Hearing a new voice must've caught Hermione off guard, because she was quiet as she shifted around on the seat and slowly opened a sliver in the door.

"What does a seventh year Hufflepuff care about a first year Gryffindor like me?" Hermione asked after looking Amelia up and down.

"I care 'cause it's Halloween! Your first Halloween at Hogwarts and you're going to miss all those sweets for what?!" Amelia cried.

A pause. Hermione moved to wipe away some stray tears with her sleeve, but Amelia conjured some Kleenex from the darkness of her robes. "You wouldn't want to ruin your robe, would you lass?" She said as she stuck the pack of Kleenex through the gap in the door. Hermione nodded and wiped her face with the Kleenex instead. The skin around her eyes were still red and puffy, but was slowly clearing up. After a little while, Hermione said "I don't think my Housemates like me very much."

"Well who gives a toss?" Was Amelia 's quick reply.

Hermione chewed on her lip and thought of what she would say next.

"My Housemates say I'm a know-it-all." She said quietly.

"Could you imagine what the other Houses say about the Ravenclaws?" Amelia joked.

Through the thin crack in the door, Amelia saw Hermione's mouth turn up into a small smile.

Amelia leaned on the sink and kicked her feet up. "I've been watching you, not in creepy way mind you. My Housemates say you could be the smartest witch in your year."

Hermione's eyes widened and dimples formed at the corners of her mouth. "Really?"

Amelia laughed. "Definitely. Keep up the good work, you could be the best in the school. With skills like yours, I'm suprised you don't have people lining up to be your friends."

Hermione's smile was dashed. "It's because I'm too bossy."

"Now who said that?" Amelia asked, though she had an idea she already knew.

"Harry Potter and Ron Weasley." Hermione sighed.

"Like I said, who gives a toss?"

"But how am I supposed to put up with them? I'll have to spend the next 7 years together, and we can hardly stand each other!"

Amelia blew a raspberry, secretly jealous that this is a first year's biggest plight. "You'll make friends easy. An opportunity will present itself eventually." Amelia said confidently, then lifted off the sink and twirled around the room. She danced on the tips of her toes on the cold stone floors, "and let's make it Halloween!"

Hermione laughed at the seventh year and wiped away the last of of her tears.

"Will you finally come out to the Great Hall?"

Hermione opened the door the rest of the way, as she smiled through her teary eyes. "I'll meet you there then, I just want to clean myself up."

"Well hurry up! You'll miss the _candy_!" Amelia called as she left the washroom. Once out the door, she checked to see if the coast was clear and transformed back into her Animagius form. She happily made her way back to the Great Hall and the feast. Amelia knew she was missing the annual Hetalia Halloween party, but at least she was at Hogwarts, which was probably just as fun.

Above her, the hundreds of candles that floated above the tables were replaced with mini Jack-o-Lanturns. A colony of bats swarmed inside the enchanted ceiling. Between the golden plates and cutlery were scattered pieces of candy and discarded wrappers. Surely more would appear upon the large saucers that lined the tables.

She spotted the elusive toad Trevor under the feet of a Ravenclaw second year and dashed to retrieve him. She headed to Neville's seat, dropped Trevor into Neville's lap and curled up against his legs. She hoped he'd try and feed her human food as a reward. If only for tonight.

The loud babble and chatter amongst Neville and his friends were silenced when Professor McGonagal stood to introduce Professor Dumbledore and his speech. After his opening speech and magical words, the Hall was filled with the 'oohs' and 'awes' of the students. Amelia stood on up on her hind legs and pawed at the luxurious tablecloth to see what had appeared on the tables.

Large pumpkins and gourds filled to the brim with Jumping Snakes, Peppermint Toads, and Cauldon Cakes. There were large platters of carrot cake, chocolate truffles and custard tarts and plates piled high with candied bacon, crystallised pineapple and caramel apples. Boxes of Bertie Botts Every Flavoured Bean and packets of Chocolate frogs littered what space was left on the grand tables.

"Looks like your cat wants some too." Harry pointed and laughed as Amelia gave her best mews. Ron had already stuffed his face with pumpkin pasties. Ron reached over and tossed a choclate frog box to Neville. Neville stumbled as he tried to catch the frog, much to the amusement of the other Gryffindors. Neville finally caught the box and placed both his frogs on the table. He pat his lap to invite Amelia up. She happily jumped and looked up and down the Gryffindor table. Hermione hadn't arrived yet, but Amelia was confident she'd enjoy Halloween, judging from the laughing and cheerful faces of all the rest.

Neville unwrapped the box and glanced at the card. It was one Ron wanted and they traded.

Finally, he turned to Amelia.

The moment she waited for.

She opened her mouth wide to accept the chocolate frog Neville held to her.

Amelia was about to close her sharp feline teeth on the frog when the doors of the Great Hall suddenly flew open. The thunderous bang startled everyone as they turned to look at Professor Quirrel. He was running down the middle the Hall, pale skinned and soaked in sweat.

" **TROLLLLLLLL! IN THE DUNGEON!"** he screamed as he ran towards Professor Dumbledore, seated at the front of the Great Hall. Quirell's arms were flailing, trying to keep his turban from tipping over.

"Just thought you'd like to know..." he said breathlessly before he collapsed to the floor.

The stunned silence quickly turned to urgent panic. Dumbledore stood up and proclaimed clearly, with a wise sense of calm, "Prefects! Escorts your students to your Common Rooms! The Professors will take care of the troll!"

The prefects stood up and began to evacuate their housemates out of the Hall and to their dorms.

"But our Common Room is _in_ the dungeons!" Amelia heard a Slytherin student call.

"How did a troll get in the school?!" A panicked Ravenclaw shrieked.

Amelia rolled her eyes and grabbed Trevor in her mouth, bidding Neville to take it. She'll have to get her chocolate frog some other day. For now, duty called. Spartan would want want a report of this. She leapt down from Neville's lap, under the table, between the students legs and towards the dungeons.

"Where is she going?!" Neville cried, as Trevor attempted to escape his grasp.

Percy grabbed Trevor just as he hopped to the floor. "We know well enough that cat can take care of herself. But I need to keep _you_ safe right now." Percy said sternly.

"Gryffindors! Follow me to Gryffindor Tower!" Percy yelled over the crowd.

The undulating crowd of students eventually funneled out of the Great Hall and into four straight-ish lines headed towards each of the House's Common Rooms.

Draco Malfoy turned to see Ron and Harry chatter something to each other in anxious tones before breaking off from the Gryffindor line to rush down a different hallway.

"Hey-"

"Oh Draco, I'm scared! You'll keep me safe, right?" Pansy cooed. She grabbed Draco's arm tightly as they followed their prefects towards their Common Room.

The green light of the magic flames in the dungeons flickered feebly, and cast strange shadows in the dark. The cool, calm green tones that led the way to the Syltherin Common Room had taken on an anxious, sickly appearance. Just the thought that the Slytherins would chance upon the troll before the professors did was one that was keeping everyone on edge.

At long last, the Prefects made it to the Common Room door, said the password and led the students in safely. It was as if the room itself gave a sigh of relief. The Common Room was a safe haven from the the troll who could be just outside. Once they entered the room, the green lights regained their bright, comforting flame. In the middle of the room, several tablecloths began materialising. They began in the middles, and like green blossoms, they stretched out into wide circles, and cascaded over the edges of the invisible tables. They wove themselves like silver and green tapestries until they reached the floor. The sweets the students left at the feast appeared upon the newly formed tables.

"Well, at least we can continue the feast in here." One of the prefects suggested.

"Let the party continue!" Milicent grabbed a bowl of Caramel Cobwebs and Dragon Claws and dived into a pile of green pillow cushions in front of the fire as the embers roared back to life.

Soon, the Slytherin students were gathered around the fire, munching on mile-long gummy worms and trading chocolate frog cards.

"Let's tell scary stories," a fourth year Slytherin suggested.

"Okay, long ago, there were three brothers-"

"We've all heard this already! It's not even scary!" The room chorused.

"Oh, I've got one," said Terence Higgs, a seventh year said slyly. "It all began with the Grim Reaper," he started.

"We already said we don't want the story of the three brothers, it's a child's bedtime story!" A fifth year whined.

"This isn't a bedtime story, it's real." Terence said sternly.

"So this is one of those 'it happened to a friend of a friend of a friend of mine' things?" a sixth year teased between bites on a handful of gummy worms.

"It happened to my aunt!" Terence said, "Do you know the one thing Death Eaters feared even more than You-Know-Who?" He asked coldly.

"Professor Dumbledore!" Came a quick response from the room.

"No, it's something that uses dark magic." Terence made them guess again.

"That Norwegian wizard, the Troll Master?"

"Close..."

"Dylan Kirkland! That dragon Animagius who used to be an Auror!"

"Warmer..." Terence teased.

A light sparked in one of the sixth year's eyes. "A Revenant." He said softly.

"Stop right there," one of the prefects said, "we shouldn't talk about those things." She said breathlessly. The rest of the older students suddenly seemed uneasy, as if the word were hanging over them, ready to fall and crush them under its weight.

"What? You scared one of them will come knocking at the window once you start talking about it?" Terence teased.

Everyone turned to look at the windows, but it was nearly pitch black; they were at the bottom of the lake after all. They could only see a few small fish that skirted around the leaves of seaweed that swayed gently in the water.

"Want to know how the Bloody Baron died?" The other prefect suggested.

"No! What's that Grim Reaper story?!" A second year cried.

"Revenants." Her housemate hissed.

"What's a Revenant? I think my dad mentioned it once." Goyle grunted.

"Of course _he'd_ know what those monsters are," a third year, Cassius Warrington scoffed. "He'd probably come across one or two of them during the war."

"During the war?" a third year chirped through a mouth full with a Hocus Pocus Pop. With a loud smack she pulled the pop out and continued, "Were these things part of You-Know-Who's army?"

Several seventh years gasped in horror. One of them nearly choked on a pumpkin pastie.

"No no no!" One of them said, a tinge of fear coloured his voice. The younger years thought he was frightened by the mere mention of You-Know-Who, but he continued. "They'd hardly be scary at all if they were!"

"Well then what are they?!" The younger years cried.

The older years looked to each other, daring someone to speak up first. Slowly, they all turned to the two prefects to tell the story.

The male prefect shook his head sternly. The female prefect looked over the rest of the house, gathered round the fireplace, hands full of Halloween treats eagerly awaiting a Halloween story to match. The younger students wouldn't stop until they heard of something scarier than a troll inside Hogwarts' halls.

"The Revenants were ghosts of Muggles, Bloodtraitors and Mudbloods killed by Death Eaters during the War." She said, looking as if someone had snuck an earwax flavoured jellybean into her treats. She half expected the younger years to go just as pale as the upper years were. Instead they burst out laughing.

"They way you guys were acting made them sound _actually scary!"_ Pansy teased. She gave an ugly laugh and fell from her chair.

"They _are_ scary." Draco said flatly.

"No way!" a third year defied. "What's so scary about some dead Mudbloods?"

"They're scary if you're a Death Eater." Said Alicia, a sixth year who everyone knew was a half blood piped in. "They were more feared than the Troll Master or Dylan Kirkland. Probably even more than You-Know-Who!" She proclaimed.

"Nothing is scarier than You-Know-Who!" Crabbe argued. "Muggles aren't scary at all!"

"They are when they're killer ghosts hungry for revenge!" Cassius said. The room fell silent, the only noise in the Common Room was the soft crackle of the fire and the older Slytherin's anxious breathing.

"Where did they come from?" A third year asked nervously.

"Well, stories say once a Death Eater killed someone, a Muggle, Mudblood or Bloodtraitor, they'd be cursed for life, with a Revenant constantly trying to hunt them down." Alicia said, trying to make her voice sound spooky. The younger years still seemed unconvinced.

"If these things fought against the Death Eaters, does that mean they worked for the Ministry of Magic?" A fourth year wondered aloud.

"Everyone already knows the Ministry didn't even allow their Aurors to use the same spells the Death Eaters were using to fight them off until the last legs of the war." Terence said. "These were merciless _animals_. There's no way they worked with the Ministry."

"Then, where did they come from? Where did they go?" A second year asked. There must've been a logical explanation to this lame story. There was no bloody way a Muggle could ever hold its ground against a Death Eater.

"Well if you believe some of the stories, I'd think it was Dylan Kirkland who brought them to life." Mercutio, a sixth year spoke up.

"Why Dylan?" Milicent spat through a mouthful of chocolate cake. "That Bloodtraitor is a goody-two-shoes and everyone knows it."

"Well those are just the rumours. Though it might be true; it was a different time, and he was fighting against his brothers, even Alistair had joined You-Know-Who." Mercutio replied, somewhat repulsed at the chocolate faff spraying from Milicent's gob. "And think about it, if his brother was _the Necromancer,_ Dylan would know a few tricks of his own, right?"

A wave of curiosity washed over the younger years. The Kirklands were an ancient and infamous pureblood family in the wizarding world, and had a reputation of producing some of the most powerful wizards in Britain. All the best pureblood families enjoyed gossiping and speculating about them, though their secrets were well guarded by their allies, the Waverly, Williams, Jones and Steward families. The whole bloody batch was wrapped in mystery and secrecy, so much so the prospect of Muggles coming back from the dead to seek revenge became a little more interesting once the Kirklands may have been involved.

The younger years pushed for more stories about the Revenants.

The older years slowly obliged.

"Mercutio, one of your uncle's were killed by _it,_ right?" A sixth year nudged his friend, concerned about the green palor he'd taken on.

"My dad barely escaped with his life, too." Mercutio rasped, "he couldn't use his magic for _weeks."_

A third year's eyes went wide with morbid curiosity. "Is that because he was grieving or..."

"No, the Revenant _did something_ to him. Cursed him with a touch!" He rasped. "They're monsters, they're pure evil!"

Some of the younger years regretted pushing the upper years to tell, and tried to focus on their sweets or Chocolate Frog cards instead, but the stories kept coming. Stories about cursed creatures of the night, and how their haunting wails cursed the night air.

Disturbingly, the Revenants all spoke with the voices of a thousand dead children. A couple seventh years passed around a box of Animal Bonbons, small candies that changed a person's voice to sound like an animal, in attempt to try and mimic the sound of a Revenant.

The sounds of monkeys and lions sounded much to earthly and mundane compared to what they were trying to imitate.

Crabbe just saw the colourful candy balls and stuffed a whole handful in his mouth. The roar of many different animals that fought over each other and mixed in strange ways in his throat crawled out from his dumb mouth sounding ghoulish and ethereal.

The younger years were stunned into silence as the older years continued their stories.

The Revenants were furious their young lives had been cut short by the war, driven by an insatiable thirst for revenge against the army that'd brought about their own end. And the Death Eaters weren't allowed to forget the young lives they'd taken.

While the Death Eater's masks hid their identities, allowing them to do their work anonymously, it seemed the Revenants carried a Nation's dead on its back. There was much arguing among the older Slytherins over exactly how the Revenants looked, whether it had a ghastly black body or was a hulking mass under all those flowers, but there were two things the Slytherin's could agree on. That the more Death Eaters killed Muggles and Mudbloods, the more flowers would appear on their backs. And stranger still, that the colours of flags were emblazoned across their faces.

"Someone I knew was killed by one." A student would speak up.

"Which one?" The older students asked. And the one telling the story relayed which was the monster that killed their loved- or not- so-loved one.

"The one with the fleur de lis on its back." One replied.

"The one with maple leaves along its arms." Someone said.

"The one with the Rising Sun on its face." Said another.

"The one with the German colours."

"Russia"

"China"

"India"

"Italy"

It seemed even in death, Muggles and Mudbloods were a thorn in a Death Eater's side. If You-Know-Who wanted to wipe Muggles off the face of the Earth, it'd have to be Death Eaters vs the world.

And it would be one hell of a fight. Some of the Revenants, the Death Eaters could tell, were Mudbloods or Bloodtraitors-armed with wands, they could cast advanced spells, and used both white and black magic on a whim. But most of the Revenants, it seemed, were Muggles that had perished in the war. They'd have a whole arsenal of weapons at their disposal: all of them were unholy matrimonies between Muggle weapons and Wizard magic: Enchanted swords that could cut through stone.

Arrows that'd shatter into a million points of razor sharp light.

Needles thin as hairs that would freeze limbs solid.

Buldger bats that could send hexes and curses ricocheting back at the caster

Cards that left the areas where they cut into brick walls or floorboards drained of colour and magic.

And even the barbaric Muggle weapons known as 'firelegs'. Such a weapon would would fire thunder and lightning at a target infinity more deadly than wizard firecrackers, break through a shield spell, proving more deadly than the Killing Curse.

Even unarmed these monsters were deadly, able to take away a wizard's magic with a few cursed touches. Lucky witches and wizards that survived a Revenants' touch regained it within a few days or a week. Most weren't as lucky. Needless to say, most died powerless.

Of course, they were just stories, the younger Slytherins kept telling themselves. Even the older Slytherins had a hard time believing the stories, whether they came from their own families or not.

But it was the truth.

And there was one Revenant feared above all. The one rumored to be the Grim Reaper itself.

"My grandfather was a Death Eater," the Alice piped in. "Wasn't really happy my dad married me mum. Threatened to kill her a few times. When You-Know-Who came along, he was one of the first to join. So what if she's not pure?" She challenged the other students.

"Anyway, it certainly wasn't a mindset that pleased the Revenants. My uncle said Grandad was dragged out of the house in the dead of night-Grandad put up a good fight, but it didn't do him any good. All his spells were useless. Those buldger bats it used reflected them all away. Grandad was hit by his own hexes a few times.

"Sure, a muggleborn finding the Dark Mark in the clouds over his house is traumatising. But it's not the same as hearing your own father's screams of agony as his curses are rebounded back at him, his flesh slashed and bones broken!" She hissed, the few Slytherins by her jumped back in scared suprise. A box of Every Flavour Beans were spilled across the floor, but then all the sweets had by now been abandoned. The candles from the chandeliers burned low and the fire from the fireplace was slowly dying. Everyone huddled in closer in front of the fireplace, quiet as the story continued.

"When he was finally tired out from the fight, it dragged him across the field in front of his house, where a pile of wood and a stake were waiting..." she trailed off. The older students knew what was coming, the younger ones probably weren't even told about the true horrors of the war yet.

"But fire can't do anything against a wizard, we learned this in History of Magic, witch burnings were useless," a third year whispered to his friend.

"The enchanted purple flames." Terence said solemnly. "My dad wasn't there, but he heard a whole building the Death Eaters were using as a base burned to the ground. They tried every spell they knew to put it out, but that stuff burns through every charm and enchantment until there's nothing left." He breathed.

"The one that killed your Grandad," Mercutio said to Alicia, "it was _that one_ wasn't it?"

They met eyes. A simple nod of her head confirmed Mercutio's fears.

"The one from Britain."

The room suddenly went cold. The older Slytherins conjured up an image of the beast, from a conglomeration of different stories from friends and family. There were plenty, and they all ended in pretty much the same way.

"Meeting this Revenant meant certain death." Mercutio said.

"It was different from all the rest. Probably because the war started on its land, it must've thought You-Know-Who was betraying his country. On its back, a triangular eye was carved, and a tangled mess of roses, thistles and daffodils sprouted from it. Its skull was a cold blue with icy white streaks across the face, with another one of those triangular eyes and devilish horns. When it stalked through the night, looking for Death Eaters to feast on, it'd move like a cloud of smoke. As it came closer to its target, its one eye would burst into two red hot flames. When it screamed in pain, more red flames would spew from its maw. It was nothing but a twisted Union Flag for any Death Eater who laid eyes on it.

If the Revenants were monsters, this was the Grim Reaper itself. It used all kinds of Muggle weapons, from swords to firelegs, even a deck of cards. That, and all kinds of magic were at its disposal, even the darkest curses only You-Know-Who itself would dare to use. And even some sort of curse no one's ever heard of before..."

"The miasma..." Alicia guessed.

"The plague." Cassius said.

"The black wind." Draco breathed.

"No one really knows what it was, and the thing doesn't speak in English, so this curse was called lots of different things." Mercutio said.

"What was it?" A second year asked, he clutched a pillow tightly.

"This Revenant would explode into a giant black storm of razor sharp needles and burning embers. It'd envelop whole buildings and reduce them to rubble in its wake. It'd grab Death Eaters with its claws and smother them in the dark air and leave their corpses disfigured, siphoned of life and skin marred with black spots." Mercutio said.

"But even that didn't satisfy its craving for Death Eater blood. This one was hunting for someone." Terence added.

"Who?" Goyle asked.

"We don't say his name." Cassius snapped.

"He can't be worse than You-Know-Who." A third year reasoned.

The expressions that spread across the older years faces said otherwise.

"The worst Death Eater in the whole army." Draco said. The whole room turned to him. "The darkest wizard whoever lived, honestly, he was probably just _using_ You-Know-Who. He would have just tossed the Dark Lord like trash once he got what he wanted."

Pansy looked at Draco, shocked. "But no wizard is worse than You-Know-Who, " her voice wavered, as if the night of hearing horror stories of Revenants made her disbelieve her own words.

"Who do you think provided You-Know-Who with his army of Inferi?" Terence challenged.

"Enough." The prefect called, his voice tinged with fear.

Terence smirked and continued. "My Aunt came across the Grim Reaper once. It nearly scared her to death, almost bloody did too. She ended up in St. Mungo's anyway." He said angrily.

"Did it curse her?" Someone asked vacantly.

Terence shook his head to try and find the right words for what that monster had done to his aunt. "Might as well have. She can't speak of anything but that _thing_ anymore. It _spoke_ to her."

Small gasps were heard around the room, and everyone held their breath, curious at what the thing had said.

Terence grabbed a box of Animal Bonbons. As he punched through the cardboard to open the box, he explained, "The Revenant was looking for the Necromancer...you know, _Oliver Kirkland_."

He sneered, then he opened the box and poured the Animal Bonbons into his mouth. What came next was a sound, no, a message that would have been a death knoll to anyone loyal to He-Who-Shall-Not-Be-Named, a wailing that shook the glass on the windows and pierced the eardrums of anyone who heard it. Even the fireplace was blown cold, and plunged the room into darkness.

There was much girlish screaming in the pitch black of the room until the lights came back on to their full brightness, with Professor Snape in the middle of the room, a sour scowl across his face. The students wondered how long he'd been there, and whether he'd heard their stories or not.

"What exactly are you buffoons doing?" He sneered, he glanced at the mess of Halloween treats scattered across the floor that led to the huddled group of students, faces paled and nearly drained of blood.

"The troll has been dealt with." He droned. A few sighs of relief were heard in the room, thankful that's at least one monster taken care of.

"It's past curfew," Snape snapped, "I want you all in bed in ten minutes or else you'll all have detention."

The students quickly scrambled to get up from their seats on the floor and dashed towards their dorms. No one wanted detention, though they were glad they hadn't lost any house points from staying up so late.

* * *

Meanwhile, in the Gryffindor Common Room, the commotion of the Halloween feast was just dying down.

Harry, Ron and Hermione finally arrived after a close encounter with the troll.

"There you are!" Neville cried when he saw Harry and Ron climb through the portrait hole. "Where did you guys go?" He asked anxiously.

"Uh, we just got a little sidetracked," Harry blushed with embarrassment.

"We'll explain later in our room, have I got a story to tell you!" Ron whispered in Neville's ear.

"Okay! Well anyway, I got something for you," Neville said. He pulled out a large pumpkin filled with Halloween treats from the feast, and passed it to Harry and Ron to hold. "I saved them for you."

"I've got something for you too, Neville." Hermione said. She pulled his cat from out of her robes. Neville's cat seemed a bit frazzled after her experience with the troll. She rocked her furry head between her paws. The gesture was cute, almost human. "We found her in the washroom. She seemed scared and was meowing up a storm until she got hit by the troll but she seems better now." Hermione started petting the cat in her arms, and she started purring affectionately. The cat curled into Hermione's chest and nuzzled her head softly against Hermione's arm.

"Wow, she doesn't really do that a lot," Neville said, surprised. "I think she likes you." He said happily. Hermione smiled before handing the cat over to Neville.

"Hey, Hermione," Harry called and gestured to the pumpkin in his hands. "I don't think Ron and I can finish this on our own. Would you like to share?"

Hermione smiled and nodded, and they all found a spot in front of the fireplace where everyone was sharing stories. Dean was recounting the time he almost crashed into a Muggle helicopter on a broom. Some seventh years were passing on the story of how Nearly Headless Nick became nearly headless. When the Gryffindors started sharing scarier stories in the spirit of Halloween, Hermione was able to scare Ron by telling them that she and her father had found a spider's egg sack while they were camping. It was all in good fun, and for a prank, Fred and George enchanted a box of Mr. Spindle's Lick 'O' Rish Spiders to burst like the sack in Hermione's story, though Ron didn't appreciate the trick very much.

When the Gryffindors were finished all their candy and sweets, it was finally time for curfew, and everyone marched up the stairs to their dorms.

Harry and Ron whispered their story of the troll to Neville in their beds, and when the sound of their snoring classmates slowly filled the room, they too, fell fast asleep.

Harry slept peacefully, that Halloween night. A bit miffed he'd lost Gryffindor a few house points, but at least he'd gained a friend.

Not everyone slept so soundly though.

Draco Malfoy laid in his bed, tossing and turning. Some of the Slytherins in his year still couldn't believe the frightening stories of their upper classmen; or they didn't want to believe such cruel creatures such as Revenants existed and defied the power of You-Know-Who's army.

Draco knew, of course, that they were real. His father had told him he was cursed and hunted by those beasts. Pretending that he was Imperiused to join You-Know-Who was the only thing that had saved him. The Revenants had already taken his godfather, after all. Lucius would be damned if any more harm came to his family. Draco took comfort in that in the very least.

Draco turned onto his side and stared out the window. The gently swaying seaweed slowly lulled him to sleep.


	15. 1-9 b: Halloween

It was Halloween and the Hetalians were kicking off their annual party. England and Sealand were just finishing up the final touches on their costumes in their hotel suite. The two were a pair: England was John Watson and Sealand was Sherlock Holmes, from the original books. England was busy with Capt. Waverly _actually fixing his hair for once_ in the loo while Sealand looked himself over in a mirror in the living room.

"Did you really wear these things in the 1890's?" He called to England through the closed door.

"Yes, these were quite fashionable at the time!" England replied loudly from the loo.

Sealand wore a tan single breasted trenchcoat and tartan shoulder cape over a stiff collared white shirt, maroon suit vest and tie. He buckled his belt and adjusted his suspenders that held his dark pants in place. Thin herringbones cascaded from his suit down to his old Oxford shoes.

"How's that rat's nest on your head coming along?" Sealand teased loudly. He studied his shoes and tapped the toes together. The black leather had lost its sheen, but the stitching still kept it together. They were in very good condition, considering they had been stuffed in the back of a closet and locked in Vault 1 since the end of the Second World War. The tailored shoes still fit even after more than 70 years.

Sealand remembered when he first had the shoes made and fitted for him. He had a sharp suit to match though it was lost in a house fire after the war. The set was made special for him so he could fit in with the other Allied Nations. Sealand loved the old outfit, it made him look the part of a full Nation, though he was a bit miffed that he hadn't grown up very much over the years.

He sat down in one of the Parisian armchairs and retrieved his spyglass from the coffee table. He remembered he and Iceland tumbled down a hill on the old estate and split a seam on one of his shoes. Though he'd just quickly gotten the spyglass at a Tesco's Sealand could clearly see where the leather seams tore, and where England had flawlessly repaired it. Sealand smiled.

And then he felt a hand push a hat to cover his eyes.

"Hey-!" He laughed as the hand began to ruffle his hair. He slapped the hand away and peeked up from under the brim of his hat. England smiled at the young micronation, "You can't be Sherlock without your deerstalker, right?"

"Stop! I just had my hair combed!" Sealand cried. Sealand pulled the deerstalker down around his head to shield his hair from England, who'd scooped the tiny nation up into his arms and rubbed his knuckles into Sealand's scalp. The two laughed and twirled around the room as Sealand squirmed and finally escaped from England's grasp.

"Well, how do I look?" England asked.

He wore a navy blue waistcoat and a stiff starched collared shirt. He straightened the full Windsor knot on his tie and ajusted his navy blue jacket. The gold double breasted buttons that marched down his chest, and the gold cuff links that glimmered from his wrists made a stunning contrast in colour against the blue and grey tones of the suit. He completed the look with neatly combed hair, parted on the left side to balance the decorative cane he held in his right hand. With a flourish, he conjured a bowling hat from a flury of sparks and placed it atop his head. He cut a stunning figure.

"England you're cheating!" Sealand collapsed into a sofa. "I've seen you wear this in your old photos! I swear you've worn this at the UN a few times! These are just your normal clothes!" He whined.

"My normal clothes from the Victorian era!" England countered.

"But that's not a costume!" Sealand defied.

"Please, you're overreacting. I look like Dr. John Watson from that movie, right?" England asked. Sealand studied England and stroked the nonexistent hairs on his chin. "Tell me I look like Jude Law." England pleaded.

"Sure," Sealand said, "if Jude Law was a girl!"

"You take that back!"

"Never!" Sealand laughed.

Capt. Waverly couldn't help but laugh as she moved furniture out of the way of the nations' paths as they chased each other around the room. She heard a knock on the door and went to fetch it. She looked through the peephole and saw New Zealand in a pirate getup.

"Ahoy mateys! Are ye lamdlubbers ready for the party?!" New Zealand yelled into the room with an exaggerated pirate voice. Northern Ireland, Seychelles, and Wy peeked out from behind him and greeted the Capt. Waverly.

Northern Ireland was dressed like one of the Knights of the Round Table. He carried a shield with a lion painted on it, and a sword sheathed on his side. The other three were dressed up like rugged pirates and had swords strapped to their hips. Though Seychelles had an eyepatch and New Zealand wore a bandana, none of them were wearing a tricorn.

England caught Sealand in his arms once again and carried him around like an accessory.

"Hello you scurvy pirates!" England teased, and turned to the first mate, New Zealand, "where's your esteemed captain?"

"Uh, he found something and got a little sidetracked." New Zealand said.

"Oh look, here he comes now." Wy pointed down the hallway, where Australia was bounding down the way. Something was strapped onto his arm, lifted high above his head.

"DR. WATSON LOOK WHO I FOUND!" Australia burst as he shoved his crewmates aside and rushed into the room. Above his head he was carrying Archimedes, who was frantically flapping his great wings in a greeting to his owner. Archimedes lifted off Australia's forearm and flew around in the hotel suite before landing on top of a lamp. New Zealand reached for a rolled up piece of parchment tied to his leg, but Archimedes snapped at his fingers. New Zealand just barely avoided getting bit. Archimedes unapologetically started hooting for a tasty treat as a reward for flying across the ocean in record time.

Capt. Waverly procured a handful of owl treats from a small pouch on her belt and handed it to Sealand and Wy. Archimedes ate hungrily from their open hands, and when he was satisfied, he lifted his leg, where a letter was neatly rolled and strapped to the leg with a small leather belt.

England untied the letter from Archimedes' leg, opened it and read the cursive ink that sprawled across the page.

 _Dear Dad,_

Harry began,

 _I'm enjoying school very much. I'm making lots of friends, my best friend is Ron Weasley. He has lots of brothers, Fred and George, and they're tons of fun too! I even met Neville Longbottom. Classes are going mostly well. Potions with Snape are a pain and Mr. Binns is suuuper boring. Everything else is pretty awesome. Transfiguration is taught by my Head of House, Professor McGonagal, she's like Mr. Ludwig but she's very fair. In fact she's the one who got me on to the Quidditch team!_

 _Quidditch practice is the best! My first game is coming up after Halloween and I can't wait!_

 _Anyway, the Halloween feast is going to start soon, the ghosts are going to put on some sort of show! I'll write you again soon, xoxoxo_

 _Harry Potter_

Below, it seemed Harry and Neville had scribbled a childish doodle at the bottom of the page that depicted the two of them eating mountains of candy.

England smiled ear to ear.

"Lookit his ugly mug!" Australia pointed at England. "I think he's about to cry!"

"Awww cute! It's Harry's daily mail!" Seychelles exclaimed.

"Ha! What a daddy's boy!" Wy teased.

"Oh bugger off, all of you!" England shouted.

"We're just teasing, England," New Zealand said in his calm and laid back voice. "Why don't we all write a letter to him for the occasion?" Everyone liked this idea, even England. So England summoned a set of stationary supplies with a wave of his fingers. A piece of parchment, a fountain pen and a small bottle of ink slowly emerged from a cloud of sparkling pixie dust.

Both Wy and Sealand dashed to start the letter.

 _Dear Harry,_

 _Hi! It's your cousins Wanda and Peter!_

 _And Oz_

 _And Liam_

 _And Michelle!_

 _Hey its Connor, and I feel you, Snape sucks._

 _Hello Harry,_ England wrote, _I'm glad you're enjoying your classes and time in Hogwarts. It's wonderful you're making friends. Please don't worry too much about Snape, just enjoy your time in Hogwarts._

Australia grabbed the pen and scrawled quickly.

 _And we hope you have enough candy to give your dentist a heart attack!_

At the bottom of the page, England wrote "Love, " and left some room for everyone to sign.

Northern Ireland signed the letter with a flourish.

"Look at that, this letter's worth quite a few Galleons now that it's got my autograph," the Quidditch star bragged.

"I thought the Knights of the Round Table were supposed to be honorable and humble." England teased.

"Let's say I'm a Knight from Monty Python, not the old poems." Northern Ireland joked. England pulled the faceplate of his helmet down with a clang. The younger nation gasped in surprise and stumbled into one of the comfy army chairs.

Then, England cast a small charm to quickly dry the ink, rolled the parchment and tied it with a small knot. He strapped the letter back into the leather belt and sent the big bird on his way. Archimedes flew out the window and pinned a squirrel down on a branch in a nearby tree.

"Oh, I guess he'll deliver it tomorrow," Seychelles said as she leaned out the window and watched the large owl feed on the unlucky little rodent.

Archimedes settled onto the branch and preened his feathers, then fell asleep under the bright light of the moon. It was a clear night in New York City. Though the moon was only missing a small sliver of light, it was the only light in the sky. It seemed all the other stars had fallen into the city, into the windows of skyscrapers, blaring billboards and the cars on the streets.

Down below, Seychelles could see the hotel gardens, and the other Nations mingling and socialising in all their colourful costumes. Halloween decorations were strewn about the trees and bushes . There were several Atlas agents, dressed in ancient Greek togas and olive wreaths serving drinks to the Nations, and Spartans dressed as an army of zombies that stood by the entrances and exits. Tables with orange and black tablecloths and piled high with catered sweets and punchbowls of candies spilled from the hotel restaurant onto the deck.

"Wow, it looks wonderful." Seychelles said.

"And those are just the gardens, we have the conference hall booked too." England said.

"I think some sort of wizard band is playing too. What were they now, the Weird Sisters?" Australia tried to remember.

"Well, I think it's high time we joined the party instead of just ogling at it." Waverly suggested. "Mr. England, you've still got to get ready for your show," she added excitedly.

"Whoo! Candy here we come!" Wy and Sealand led the way out of the room.

As the group walked down the hall to the elevator, Sealand got into the character of Sherlock Holmes.

"So what do you think of the America vs England annual scare off this year, Mr. Holmes?" Australia asked.

Sealand took a toy pipe from one of his coat pockets and blew bubbles from it.

"I do believe team GB will claim another victory this year." He claimed.

"Why's that?" England chuckled.

"Elementary, my dear Watson," Sealand began, "Mr. America and Mr. Denmark have been collaborating over the past few weeks to put something together. He's been trying to repurpose some old Spartan gear, I saw Mr. Demark try and scare Mr. Finland with one of the voice changers in an old Spartan helmet. A futile attempt really," Sealand blew some bubbles from his pipe, they smelled like strawberries, "nothing scares Mr. Finland."

"Well then, I'm feeling pretty confident this year." England said.

They came to the elevator and waited for a car. Soon, the car arrived and they all filed in. The walls of the elevator were full length mirrors. Thousands of copies of pirates and clones of Sherlock Holmes stood in the elevator as the numbers slowly ticked down the floors. Seychelles noticed one repeating line of a S.P.A.R.T.N. soldiers in office blues.

"Where's your costume, Capt. Waverly? I thought all the Spartans were dressed like zombies this year." Seychelles asked.

"Well I'm leaving early. I'm just here to escort Mr. England and Mr. Sealand, then I'll be heading home. It's almost the full moon after all." The captain explained.

Seychelles nodded as her mouth formed a silent 'oh'. The elevator dinged when they finally reached the lobby floor. The doors slid open to reveal Wales and Scotland, the other Kights of the Round Table. Wales quickly grabbed England by the wrist and pulled him out of the elevator car.

"Come on we've still got a big fairy to summon!" Wales exclaimed as he raced to other other side of the lobby and disappeared into the crowd.

"I see Mrs. Belgium!" Seychelles pointed towards a set of large double doors at the top of a grand staircase. From the lobby, they could see the Commandant-with grey and green face paint smeared across his cheeks-greet the BeNeLux countries, dressed up like fairy tale characters. "She's beautiful! Let's go see everyone's costumes!"

The five Nations and Capt. Waverly ran up the grand stairs and greeted the zombie guards, then filed into the conference hall. The two Waverly's bid the group goodbye, and the Commandant saw the good Captain off into the night.

An hour later, the Nations were gathered in the conference hall, snacking on every Halloween treat under the sun and from around the world. Maple taffy from Canada, mango-pandan pudding from the Philippines, assorted liquorice and toffies from England, almond cookies with coloured icing from Italy and sugar skulls from Mexico, to name a few. At the front of the conference hall was a stage where a large screen stood. On the ceiling was a projector.

Romano got up on stage with a gladiator's toga a microphone and a small remote. With the push of a button, the lights in the room dimmed, until only the glow of the small jack-o-lanterns on the tables remained.

"Okay you bastards, tonight's a great night to make a quick buck! Place your bets on who you think will win this year's Annual America vs. England Scare Off! As you know, the current score is about 500+ to 1, England." Romano opened. The room roared with excitment.

"Our two competitors have already been portkeyed to the arena in Grand Central Park, and we've got magic eyes watching their every move. Now let's get this show on the road you bastards!" Romano pushed a button on his remote to turn on the screen.

The screen opened to reveal Denmark waving at a camera.

"Hi Norge! Lookit me! Did you bet on me Bro?" Denmark exclaimed. Norway smirked and Iceland buried his head in his hands out of embarrassment.

He and America were dressed up like vikings. America wore a bear skin for a cape, a historically inaccurate helmet decorated with horns and a bushy fake beard. Denmark looked absolutely giddy as he held a large battle axe in his hands, ready for team GB to appear.

America and Demark heard ruffling through some bushes. America ran up and and waved his sword around. Hidden inside his fake beard must be been the voice changer that Denmark had modified, because America's voice seemed to echo and reverb unnaturally in the cold night air. America burst through a bush and yelled in attempt to frighten whoever hid there. He succeeded in scaring off a few bunny rabbits.

The conference hall was filled with a mix of groans and laughter from the Nations and Hetalians who were watching America's efforts with anticipation.

Then, Denmark heard a rumble through the trees.

The camera in the conference room cut to Wales and England, who were shockingly still in their own costumes and were just sitting on a tree stump, laughing with Flying Mint Bunny. The room went quiet, the question "what are they doing?" ran through everyone's minds. The other Nations looked to the remaining members of the British Isles, who all had sly smiles plastered along their faces.

Denmark and America expected the two brothers, Wales and England to emerge from the greenery, but instead, a large faerie with a white fluffy beard and a pair of large creamy white moth wings sprouting from its back appeared from brhind some trees. A dozen eye spots narrowed their sights on America in his viking gear who was trembling in fear.

"Hi, I heard there was a party going on?" The faerie's voice rumbled.

America dropped his gear in fright and started to run out of the park.

"America! Come back!" Denmark cried, "it's just a faerie! We've got tons of these at my place there's nothing to be afraid of!" But America had already climbed over a fallen tree trunk to get away from the large faerie. "Come on America!" Denmark yelled after America's retreating back. "I actually put money on you this year!"

"Did you actually?" Wales asked when he came out of his hiding place from behind a bush. England was busy conjuring tons of pumpkins filled with candy to thank their faerie friend for the help.

"Haha. Not really." Denmark admitted.

"Okay, well I'll treat you to drinks." Wales laughed as they headed back to the hotel.

In a green room behind the stage, America was sipping on some iced tea and England eagerly gulping down a butter beer. Scotland was guzzling his own choice brew. Romano sat in a corner and counted his winnings. The zombie guard, Cmdt. Waverly and the Greek goddess Det. Bordeaux stood close by, stiff as oaks.

"I would have totally won this year," America insisted.

"Right, if you'd used Mr. Russia again," Wales joked.

"That year was a bloody fluke!" England cried.

"And you really didn't make 'a little less scared of Russia' club back in 1902." Denmark teased.

The green room exploded into laughter as England nearly spit out his drink in suprise. He pounded his chest to force the rest of his butter beer out of his throat and Scotland babied him in jest.

"Oh, but I really would have won this time!" America cried.

"Did you actually put money on yourself this year lad?" Wales teased. America whined as Wales responded with a playful punch aimed at America's shoulder.

"Well it was a good effort," England commended, "using a Viking getup and Spartan gear from the old Project. Nice touch." He pursed his lips. "That little voice distorter might have made Death Eaters piss their trousers, but you'd have to try a little harder with me, little brother."

"Totally dude, I didn't want to scare you _that_ hard, I went easy on you this time." America bragged.

"Oh, you had something else planned?" Scotland deduced.

"Yeah, almost threw out all my hard work once a Spartan report showed up in Det. Bordeaux's filing book!" Denmark cried. "What was in there, ma'am?" He asked Bordeaux

"Classified." Scotland's stern assistant said.

"Whatever, I'll see you guys later, I need to eat some candy!" Denmark got up and was out of the green room in a flash and left the Kirkland family for the bustling party.

"What could possibly be in a report that you think it could scare me?" England asked.

"Well I didn't want to use it cause I know it would have knocked your socks off bro!" America teased.

"Not _now_ , America." Romano called from his corner.

"Det. Bordeaux?" England turned to the detective.

Her stoic face adopted a look of concern. "Actually, sir, I don't think you should read it right now." Bordeaux waved her hands away from the nation's who were closing in on her.

"Mr. England, I agree with the detective. Maybe you should go out and enjoy the party for now, celebrate your win, you know? The band should be starting soon." Cmdt. Waverly suggested.

"Yes, yes, we'll get right to that, right after I see whatever pathetic attempt at scaring me America had tried." England said confidently. "Come on Waverly, let's see the report." England persuaded.

Waverly paused vacantly before he finally gave in to England's pestering. He complied with a salute, a 'yessir' and took Bordeaux's filing book labeled "Philosopher's Stone Security Reports" from her briefcase.

Inside the filing book was a preliminary report, a transcript obtained from an agent's watch. It was printed from an old type writer and must have come from the safe house in Hogsmeade.

The report was marked urgent and filed by Pte. Jones. Her transcript recorded short and fast sentences, and created a tense sense of urgency on the page.

 _There's a f****** troll!_

 _The damn troll!_

 _It got out somehow!_

 _The students were escorted safely to Commons_

 _Will update when situation changes_

 _I found the troll!_

 _it's in the washroom_

 _Mother******_

 _why is Harry here?!_

 _RON?!_

 _go get him Harry!_

 _I mean..._

 _There are civilians here_

 _Please advise_

 _Harry watch out-_

England flipped over the page for the rest of the transcript but found profiles of Ministry workers marked as persons of interest instead.

"Ha, very funny America, where's the rest of the report?" England feigned a laugh to hide his distress. A troll had attacked not only Harry, but Amelia as well.

America just smiled and shrugged his shoulders, oblivious to the tense atmosphere in the small room. Like overwound piano wires, England felt ready to snap at one wrong note.

"America! Harry's in danger! Your granddaughter _Amelia!_ "

America clutched his stomach and laughed at England's quickly paling face. "Yeah! If I used that tonight I would have totally won!"

"But we can't let anyone else know about this operation." Romano said coolly, "just give him the rest of the fucking transcript."

America smiled sweetly and reached into his back pocket and revealed a piece of paper, folded over into a small, thick square.

"Amelia made it out fine." America waved off his older brother's worries. "See? Harry took care of it."

 _OK so I got knocked out but Hermione is telling the story to Neville._

 _Ron got up on the troll and Harry used_ Wingardium Levio _sa to drop the troll's club on its head._

 _Crisis averted._

 _Over and out._

"How did the troll get out of the third floor corridor?!" England shrieked.

"Who knows," America shrugged again. He downed the rest of his ice tea and slammed the glass on a small table. "well congrats on your win again, I think the band is going to start soon. I'll see you out there!" America shot the England and Scotland a quick wink and waved.

"Aye, dun't worry yourself bruv, it's all just fun and games," Scoland pat England heartily on the back. "I'm sure he didn't mean to hurt you or anything." Scotland consoled his younger brother and softly rubbed the former Empire's back, though England's legs trembled under his own weight and it seemed his temperature had dropped. "I'm sure Alfred didn't mean anything by it."

"It's not that," England breathed. His fair skin was blanched, as if someone had thrown flour in his face. "Harry was attacked by a _troll._ The troll _I_ sent to Hogwarts. If we'd let Dumbledore keep even one of those dragon eggs, they would just be sitting in Hagrid's hut, unhatched and harmless. Harry wouldn't have been in danger at all tonight."

"Harry's growing up," Wales said simply. "You can't be there to protect him in every moment of every waking day. Dumbledore is one of the greatest wizards alive today, and Harry's got Minerva McGonagal, if there's any trouble she can handle it with an arm tied behind her back!" Wales said. "Come on, Dr. Watson, Sherlock is outside, don't you want to spend the night stuffing your face with candy with him?"

England thought it would be wonderful to send more time with Sealand and his other former colonies, but the thought that he put Harry in harm's way was plaguing his mind; he'd ruin all the other's fun.

"I think I'd just like to retire for tonight, thank you." England said nervously. "Do you mind escorting me back to my room, please, Cmdt. Waverly?"

Waverly perked up and straightened his back, "of course, sir."

The two left the room and started to sneak past the party in the conference hall. Dr. Watson followed the undead Commandant as they stuck close to the walls and avoided small talk with the other Nations and Hetalians they passed by. The young Sherlock, of course, spotted them right away and followed them out of the hall.

"Dr. Watson! Where are you going?!" Sealand cried when they were all out in the hallway and the door closed to muffle the sound of the band.

"I'm not feeling well, Sealand, I'm going up early." England explained.

"Oh, maybe you had too much candy," Sealand sighed.

England nodded in agreement and turned to leave.

"Wait! I'll come too!"

"The night is still young, sir." Waverly said.

"No, I can go to bed early like England. I've still got the body of a child so I need more sleep, but that's OK." Sealand tapped the heels of his shoes and bounced on the balls of his feet, "If I go to sleep early, I can rise early, like a real responsible Nation!"

Waverly couldn't help but smile at the micronation.

"OK, you can come along, Sherlock," England said, "we'll wait here, go get your snacks."

A wide smile broke across Sealand's face, even an excited whistle escaped through his teeth. Sealand quickly made an about face and dashed back into the hall to retrieve a jack-o-lanturn full of candy and a glass jar full of butter beer.

Sealand eagerly joined England and Waverly as they made the trip back up to their hotel room.

The night _was_ still young, as Waverly said, and England and Sealand couldn't fall asleep right away. The two Nations were left alone with a pumpkin full of Halloween candy and a TV with hundreds of channels that were all showing Halloween specials.

They lay on the bed together in their costumes and watched whatever Halloween movie pleased them as they surfed through the channels. It was relaxing, to just sit in front of the TV, and eating sweets like nobody's business. England eventually forgot to be worried about Harry, he was comfortable in the calm room.

Eventually, Sealand's eyelids grew heavy and his arms wrapped tightly around England's torso.

"Peter, should I turn off the TV now?" England nudged the younger nation. Sealand took a while to rub his eyes before he groggily replied, "did I fall asleep?"

They both seemed too sleepy to actually get up and change into their sleeping clothes. England simply took their hats off and set them on a bedside table.

"Thanks for the shoes," Sealand mumbled in his half-sleep. England looked over Sealand's head and spotted his shoes, bathed in the blue light of the TV screen.

"I had them specially made for you." England gave a sleepy reply.

England trailed his fingers through Sealand's messy blond hair, nearly identical to his own. Sealand was quickly falling into a calm sleep, lulled by the rythm of England's heartbeat, one that they shared.

"I love the holidays." Sealand yawned.

"Or you just love all the candy that comes with them." England said quietly.

"And I get to spend time with you." Sealand said, barely a whisper.

"What was that lad?"

But Sealand was fast asleep on his arm.

England smiled sweetly at the younger nation, and switched the TV off, plunging the two of them into the dark.

"Good night, Peter." He said before he was finally swallowed up in the bed covers and fell asleep.

* * *

 **A/N**

 **Thanks for reading this far! I'd greatly appreciate it if you leave a review to let me know what you think of the story! :)**


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